#FROM THE VERY DEPTHS OF THE UNIVERSE ITSELF!!!!!

[arylleth]

What is normal about Orpheus and Eurydice? You ask me if it’s a tragedy, a myth — if it's just some tale told in whispers to warn us against turning back. But it is not a tale, not a warning. It is the breath of the world before it exhaled, the beat of a heart that knew no limit. It is the music of the earth itself.

You loved someone so deeply that it cracked open the very stones of the underworld. It split the silence of the abyss, tore through the weight of death’s indifference like a note struck in the dark — a sound that echoed through the hollows of eternity.

You loved so much that even the gods paused, held their breath. Even Hades, ruler of the dead, whose heart has no room for mercy, had to listen. Your music called out from the depths of despair, from the cold, barren soil of the forgotten. It was a love that transcended the law of life and death, a love so pure that it could wound even immortality.

And in that moment, when the stones trembled beneath the weight of your soul’s song, time itself faltered. The Fates looked away, and all that existed was your heart, thrumming louder than the forces of the universe. You turned around. You turned around not because you doubted, not because you feared, but because you knew — a single glance could unravel everything.

But it was not the turning that was your downfall. No, it was the weight of your love, too much for even the gods to bear. You, who believed that love could conquer everything, even the grip of death itself, and yet — even then, love was not enough to save her. The moment you turned, the fragile thread between the realms snapped. And in that instant, she was lost to you again.

She was lost.

But even in that loss, she forgave you.

Oh, Eurydice.

You are a reflection of every love I have ever known. The one who lingers just out of reach, the one whose absence becomes a presence, whose name I still speak to the winds — who I still sing for, as Orpheus did. In the depths of the underworld, Eurydice is not a shadow, nor a memory. She is the echo. She is the note that lingers, that resounds long after the song has ended.

And what is more beautiful than this? That in your human frailty — in your aching, in your turning back — you did not deserve her forgiveness, yet you received it, still. Love does not ask for permission. It is not governed by laws or by fate.

It is a force that defies. And in this myth, in this impossible love, Orpheus learned what we all must learn: That the depth of love does not lie in its triumphs, but in its ability to endure — to be tested by the very thing that is meant to tear it apart.

Perhaps it was not about the promise of her return. Perhaps it was never about her, but about the song you gave to the universe — a song so full of truth that even death, even time, had to listen.

You loved so much that even in your mistake, you were forgiven. You loved so much that, in the end, the music itself became your redemption. That is what is eternal in this myth — not the loss, not the turning back, but the song.

For in the end, Orpheus did not die in vain. His heart did not beat for nothing. His love did not vanish into the winds. It became something greater. It became the call of the heavens. It became the soul of the stars.

And I wonder, I wonder if the love we give — all the love we give — might one day open the stones of the underworld, too. Perhaps our music will echo down the centuries, not for the ones we lose, but for the ones we never truly had.

So what is normal about Orpheus and Eurydice? It is nothing, and it is everything. It is the way love sings through eternity, even when all we have is an echo.

not normal about orpheus and eurydice. you loved someone so much it opened the stones of the underworld. so much that death had to listen. so much that everything stopped for your love. so much that you turned around. so much that even when you did wrong. she forgave you.

[junabuggy]

Man I love dragon fruit

[hana-no-seiiki]

Hay sorry to bother you but could you please do another Gotham batfam and villains with a very powerful magical girl reader that is also shy and meek with OP power please

MOON PRISM POWER!

(romantic) yandere batfam x magical girl! reader

You never wanted this power. Nor the responsibility. Nor the the fame that came with

Unfortunately for you, the universe could be cruel at times.

It chose you—not out of kindness or fairness, but necessity. You were the only one who could bear the weight of its hopes and fears, the only one with a soul strong enough to wield such immense, unforgiving strength.

And now, as the stars burn brighter than ever before, as the shadows loom larger and darker, the choice has already been made.

You can run from it. Deny it. Curse the heavens for their indifference. But the power will remain, waiting for you to decide.

All it took was one night for the weight of it all to show

All it took was one night for the weight of it all to show. The burden you had ignored, the cracks you’d tried so desperately to hide—it all came crashing down like a tide you couldn’t hold back.

The first sign was the silence. Not the comforting kind, but a suffocating quiet that pressed against your chest, heavy and unrelenting. Then came the visions: fractured moments of a future you couldn’t understand but were certain you were meant to prevent.

And finally, the pain. Not physical, but deeper—an ache in your very soul, as if the universe itself was forcing you to feel its despair.

You tried to hold it together. Tried to tell yourself that it wasn’t your fight, that someone else—anyone else—could do it. But the truth is, no one else can.

The stars are watching. The shadows are stirring. And you… you’re caught in the center, whether you’re ready or not.

In any case! To the headcannons!

As a native Gothamite, you hated the fact that you got these flashy powers that stuck out like the sorest of thumbs amongst the dark knights and decrepit villains.

You’ve always wanted to blend in with your folks. To be a drop in the ocean. You were satisfied with that life but the ocean had other plans. It dragged you to its depths, revealing secrets you never asked for, truths you weren’t ready to face. You weren’t just a drop—you were the storm waiting to rise, the current that could change everything.

You fought against it, clinging to the life you knew. The quiet mornings. The laughter of your neighbors. The simple, mundane moments that once felt like all you’d ever need. But something inside you stirred, restless and relentless.

It whispered in your mind when you tried to sleep, tugged at your heart when you tried to forget. A pull toward something greater. Something terrifying.

You could pretend all you wanted, but deep down, you knew the truth: the life you wanted was already gone. And the one ahead? It was bigger, darker, and far more dangerous than you could ever imagine.

Damian Wayne, blood son and so called demonspawn, your opposite in all senses of the term was the first to fall into the depths of infatuation.

It wasn’t immediate, nor was it graceful. For someone raised in the shadow of assassins and forged in the fires of discipline, emotions like these were alien, unwelcome intrusions on a meticulously crafted persona. But you? You were chaos to his control, warmth to his cold calculation, and it unnerved him in ways even the deadliest adversaries couldn’t.

He hated it at first—the way his thoughts lingered on you, the way his pulse quickened when you spoke. He told himself it was a weakness, one he would crush the moment it surfaced. But no matter how hard he tried, the feelings only grew, taking root in the cracks of his ironclad walls.

Damian was no stranger to obsession, but this was different. You weren’t a target to conquer or a problem to solve. You were… light. Maddening, blinding, and completely beyond his control.

And for the first time in his life, he let himself fall. Not gracefully, not without resistance, but with the same intensity he brought to everything else—because Damian Wayne doesn’t do anything halfway.

Dick Grayson and Timothy Drake were next, both eager to find out the truth behind your identity and even more to be at your side. To bask in the light of your suffering so that they may ease their own.

For Dick, it was instinctual. He had always been drawn to broken things—not to fix them, but to share in their weight. Your quiet resilience, the way you carried your burdens without complaint (maybe because you were to meek, too weak willed to share in your thoughts and troubles), reminded him of himself in ways that frightened and intrigued him. To him, you were a mirror and a mystery, someone who made him feel seen even when you refused to be.

Tim, on the other hand, approached you like a puzzle, a thousand jagged pieces he couldn’t help but try to assemble. It wasn’t just curiosity—it was necessity. You challenged him in ways no one else did, unraveling the tightly coiled threads of his mind. He thought understanding you might help him understand himself, but somewhere along the way, it became something more. He admired the strength you tried to hide, and in his own quiet way, he wanted to protect it.

For both of them, you were a beacon—not of hope, but of something raw and unyielding, something they couldn’t turn away from. They didn’t know how to explain it, nor did they want to. All they knew was that being near you, even in your pain, made the world feel a little less cold.

Jason Todd and Bruce Wayne were the last, but certainly not the least in terms of infatuation.

For Jason, it was a storm. Fierce, chaotic, and impossible to ignore. He wasn’t one for subtleties, and his emotions had always been larger than life—rage, grief, guilt, and now this. He didn’t fall quietly; he crashed into you like a tidal wave, drawn to the fire in your eyes and the defiance in your every move. You reminded him of who he used to be, of the parts of himself he thought he’d lost in the Lazarus Pit.

But it wasn’t just admiration or connection—it was envy, too. He envied your ability to endure, to keep standing despite everything you carried. And somewhere in that envy was something tender, something he tried to deny but couldn’t help but nurture. Jason never did know how to love softly, and with you, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Bruce, however, was a different story. For him, it was quiet. Subdued. A steady ache that he refused to acknowledge, even as it consumed him. You weren’t just another person in his orbit—you were a paradox, someone who challenged his worldview while also fitting seamlessly into it. You had your own darkness, your own scars, but instead of drowning in them, you wore them like armor. Girly, sparkly and bright.

You were proof that there was strength in vulnerability, and that terrified him. Bruce Wayne, the man who had built an empire on emotional walls and calculated distance, found himself drawn to the way you refused to let the world break you. He saw in you what he always wanted to believe about himself—that the past doesn’t have to define the future.

But Bruce, as always, kept his distance. He thought it was better that way, safer for both of you. What he didn’t realize was that the more he pulled away, the more you slipped into the cracks of his carefully constructed life.

Jason was the storm. Bruce was the quiet. And you? You were the bridge between them all, the thread that tied their disparate worlds together.

Eventually these men will band together to tie you down. Keep that light of yours in a gilded cage, only for them to gaze at and maybe share with the world if they so willed.

But for now you have your freedom

cling to it.

For it will be like the life you had before,

a fleeting, fragile thing, slipping through your fingers before you even realize it’s gone.

tldr: yeah you’re f u c k e d

[imsobadatnicknames2]

Surprised to see that you as a communist (and a lot of other communists too) seem to like disco elysium so much. doesn't the game make fun of communists a lot?

It does! Quite frequently and gleefully, in fact.

My blanket response to this type of question about most pieces of media would be that, in the words of Big Joel, "I am not a politics robot". My enjoyment of a piece of art is almost entirely orthogonal to how much its implicit or explicit worldview aligns with mine. And I think ultimately that's the way you end up having to approach media if you're a communist who plays videogames at all. Or reads fantasy books. Or watches anime. Or... you get the idea.

But in the case of Disco Elysium specifically I think the read that the game depicts communism just as negatively as all the other ideologies it criticizes is a quite shallow one. Ultimately we're being shown this world through a very communist lens. Like yeah the game has a lot of (usually pretty funny) jokes about firing squads and about "communism is about failure" and about pretentious overeducated college communists who do nothing but read theory and then do some leftist infighting about it, it doesn't shy away from the immoral actions of the revolutionary army, it depicts the dockworkers union as extremely shady and corrupt and basically a crime syndicate (although this depiction is way more nuanced if you actually take the time to dig deeper and talk to people about it), and generally doesn't shy away from pointing at the ugly parts of a variety of communist movements past and present. But, under all of that, the game's understanding of issues like class and poverty and crime and colonialism and imperialism and international conflict is ultimately rooted in a very marxist worldview.

I once saw someone say something along the lines of "everyone in this game talks like a communist regardless of political alignment", and while that's obviously an extremely hyperbolic statement, I do think there's a nugget of truth in it, the clearest example being Joyce Messier. Joyce is an ultraliberal, the furthest thing from a communist you're going to find in the DE universe. And yet, when she talks about the world she does so in very marxist terms, like in her famous "Capital has the ability to subsume all critiques into itself" quote. Like. You'd never catch a real libertarian expressing that idea Like That. And a lot of the more serious, in-depth political discussions in the game are similar.

Plus, ultimately... regardless of how much criticism the game piles on it, of all the ideologies it criticizes, communism is the only one which is not depicted as a completely lost cause. The communist vision quest ends on a quite hopeful note, unlike pretty much any other one, and the Union is ultimately shown as having tons of popular support because they're the only ones who have actually gotten shit done to somewhat improve the lives of the people of Martinaise. I have lots of thoughts about the way Evrart Claire and the Dockworkers union are depicted actually, but for the time being I'm just going to say that the read of "unions are corrupt and union leaders are greedy fat cats who only care about their personal gain", while not exactly lacking in textual support, is likewise an extremely shallow one.

[marisoil]

𝑫𝐎𝐄 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

summary: post-rumbling, reiner decides to pay you a visit. somewhere along the night he realizes he wants more than he’s allowed himself to have.

an: first ever time writing a oneshot this is wild!! thereʼs not enough canon-verse fics on here. ily reiner plz have my kids.

genre: fluff

word count: 2,040

the walk to your little house feels like a pilgrimage, the quiet paths are different now, quiet like everything else in this strange peace, but his feet know the way. every step bringing him closer to you feels like something that’s his alone, something he’s stolen from whatever fate has decided for him. as his feet drag along the asphalt, he feels it, that old feeling he’d buried deep, kept under the lock of duty and war and shame. he canʼt his finger on it, partially because he isnʼt used to feeling it and the other reason being his unease at embracing the ferocious ardency heʼs inclined to feel for you and you only. it feels something like want, like yearning. thereʼs a hunger that lies dormant in the depths of his stomach for your presence, he craves it. it’s become something primal. when you’re not there, it’s like you’ve left a sunken space in him that he can’t fill. the feeling is so strong it drives him delirious, his mind tricking him into seeing you everywhere in everything all at once.

he’ll catch the faintest whiff of something sweet and saccharine, and he turns too quickly, thinking for a split second that you’re there, only for reality to empty itself into disappointment. it’s maddening, truly. he should count himself lucky that you look at him with adoration, not hate or disgust. it's a wonder to him, really, the way your irises sussurate with an adoration he cannot quantify, as if he could never disappoint you. it clutches his sternum in a brutal, unrelenting grip, he feels the weight of it in his throat, an unfamiliar pulse. being tethered to the horrifying vastness of your adoration for him is both a sufferance and a delight.

each time your eyes cut into him, something feral stirs, absurd in its magnitude. it is not want; it is collapse, an insatiable entropy dragging him toward visions fabricated entirely of you, a universe where only your form exists. he craves the things he can't have, for things he knows he doesn't deserve. he aches for the wreckage of your voice, the way a certain word escalades from your throat. his name resting on the tip of your tongue. reiner.

he knows he's being greedy, but can he be blamed? he wants your presence beside him, filling the air with something honest when the night unspools the seams of everything he’s hidden from himself. he wants the sound of your footfall, the solace of your soft hands soothe over the wounds he’s long since tried to veil. it’s all he can do not to scream for it. your very existence fills his senses until there’s no room for anything else. he’s greedy, he knows that. but it feels less like a sin and more like the only truth left when he reaches for you.

reiner finds himself hesitating just outside your door, his hand hovering in the air as he gathers his breath, eyes fixed on the warm glow spilling from your window. he’s been here before, he’s seen that same light, the one that makes your home feel like something from a memory he’s never had, but tonight, something feels different. maybe it’s him. maybe it’s just the need to see you, to feel something warm and alive again. the front porch was adorned with little plants in mismatched pots, vibrant green against the earthy wood. it suited you—warm, welcoming, a sanctuary. his breath hangs in the air, and for a second, he almost turns back. he almost turns back, almost lets the fear swallow him but he can’t, not after all this time, not after all the misery he self-inflicted upon himself all for the sake of loving you secretly. so, he raises a hand, knocking softly.

soon enough you open the door and there he is, broad and tired, standing on your doorstep as if he were exactly where he was meant to be. for a moment, you just look at each other. you stand there with the light falling around you in soft, warm colors, a subdued inhalation of surprise escaping your lips and reiner has to remind himself to breathe. there’s something so simple, so uncomplicated about this, about you in the doorway, framed by a house that feels alive with your residence. you don’t know what he sees in you, standing there in your small, homey world, but you can see it on his face, that hint of awe barely masked by his usual serene demeanor. then his expression shifts, softened by a small, familiar smile.

“i figured iʼd check in on you,” he says, voice a little lower than usual, “i wanted to see how you were settling in.”

you smile, “thatʼs sweet of you.” stepping aside, you motioned for him to step inside, “come in and see for yourself! i’m pretty proud of the place, actually.”

as he steps over the threshold, you notice him looking around, his gaze catching on the simple things—the plants in their little mismatched pots, the scarf you left over the back of a chair, your books stacked on shelves that barely hold them all. it’s all you, every inch of it, and he never wants to leave.

“oh i love it here,” you beam, almost shy, and he can’t tear his eyes away from the way you look in this moment, pride and warmth written across your face. “it’s just…it’s mine and i’ve never had that before.”

he only nods. “it suits you.”

you brighten. “i don’t have tea,” you tell him, ��but i do.have hot chocolate. i know, technically itʼs not in season but this is my house and i get to do what i want sooo..?” you grin, eager to be a good host.

“hot chocolate sounds perfect,” he says, laughing softly to himself with a specific bliss only you can evoke within him. as you moved around the kitchen, pulling out mugs and heating the milk, reiner lets himself relax, sinking into the cozy couch. you hummed softly to yourself, how at home you seemed here, in this space youʼd made. and for a fleeting moment, he imagined coming here every evening, finding you here, waiting for him. it was silly but it made him giddy.

you finish and bring the hot chocolate over, handing him a chipped mug filled with the warm, rich drink, and he takes it. you settle beside him, watching as he takes a sip, his eyes closing as the sweet liquid pools into his mouth. it was rich, sweet, with just a hint of something extra—cinnamon, maybe? it was unexpected, and he smiled to himself. it tastes like you, somehow, although he doesnʼt yet have evidence to back that statement up. he wonders if you know how good it feels just to sit here, to be near you, to let himself soften in your presence.

“thanks.”

the night wears on and a gentle drowsiness settles over you. fighting back a yawn, glancing at the clock, realizing how late it’s gotten and he’s already reaching for the mugs on the table.

“let me help you with those,” he says, gesturing to the mugs on the table.

“oh,” you say, a little flustered, “you don’t have to—”

but he’s already at the sink, sleeves rolled up as he rinses the chocolate stained mugs, his movements practiced like he was made for a life of domesticity. the sight of him washing your dishes, his large hands so gentle and careful, tugs at something deep inside you. he’d be a good father, you think suddenly, your heart skipping a beat at the thought. he has that quiet strength, that steady patience, the kind of man who’d hold a child like they were made of glass. he turns, catching you watching him, and you can feel the blush creeping up your cheeks.

“what?” he asks softly and you shake your head, shrugging. “nothing.”

he walks back over, stopping just a little closer than before, closer than friends should be. you rise from your reclined position on the couch, his eyes follow you. he’s not sure what to do with the tension hanging between you, but he knows he can’t look away.

“reiner,” you whisper, voice barely audible, your eyes soft and warm as they meet his. you rise just slightly on your toes, fingers reaching for his hand where it lingers behind your ear, drawing it down and entwining your fingers with his. his heart stutters as he feels your grip tighten. you lean in, your lips brushing against his in a kiss so soft, so tender, that he feels something in him unravel, something he’s held tightly for so long finally slipping free. you part slowly, his breath hitches, lips still tingling from your kiss, and he instinctively darts his tongue out to wet them, savoring the lingering taste. a faint sweetness coats his mouth, the subtle warmth of chocolate mingling with the softness of you. it’s rich and a little bitter, melting slowly on his tongue, leaving him wanting more of the quiet indulgence that you’d just shared.

and then, without warning, he feels the tears start to fall, warm and wet against his cheeks, spilling over before he can stop them. he tries to pull away, tries to hide it, but your hands are there, steady and sure, cradling his face as he breaks, his shoulders shaking with the force of emotions he can’t contain.

you pull back, eyes wide, a flicker of panic crossing your face as you take in his tears, the way he’s falling apart in front of you.

“reiner?” you whisper, voice filled with worry. “are you okay? did i do something wrong?”

he quickly shake his head no, tries to find the words, but all he can manage is a choked sob, his voice thick and broken as he tries to speak. “i’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “i just…i never thought iʼd feel this way.”

your expression softens, and you pull him closer, your arms wrapping around him as he clings to you, letting himself be held, letting himself fall apart in your embrace. he clings to you, burying his face in your shoulder as the tears continue. there’s relief in the way you hold him, in the warmth of your arms wrapped around him. he feels himself melt into you, surrendering to the comfort, and embracing the way he’s laid himself bare before you.

“i don’t want to go back home tonight.”

you smile, a warmth in your gaze that sends a shiver through him. “then stay,” you whisper, voice barely above a breath.

and in that moment, he knows he doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

[imorynn]

͙͘͡ 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞 ( 𝐥𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐮 )

͙͘͡ pairings : lilia calderu 𝓍 fem!reader

͙͘͡ word count : 8.5k+

͙͘͡ w/m : SMUT really with subtle but no sense of plot bc idfk what happened - horny parasites took over, oral ( r & lilia receiving ), soft!dom!lilia, begging, praise, overstimulation, fingering, edging, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, nipple play, strap usage penetration ( lilia receiving ), enchanted strap, whimpering, moaning, usage of pet names, dirty talk coming from lilia, calling lilia ‘momma’ because why not, tinges and dashes and rainbow sprinkles of fluffffffffarghhhhhhh

͙͘͡ tags : @bravewithacapitalb @angeliccss @weemswife @multixfan @missquints @raustenacious @theonefairygodmother @astrophiliaxx @alittlewitchyone @renyfisher @amethyst-bitch @gilmoresliarss @livforlive @thoroughly--confused @ofgoldandbraid @gayestswiftie @delusionalforolderwomen @kenzie-floops @liliastriangle @mymiraclewitch @kinglet1963 @misschanandlerbong25 @cowboykya @bloodycoochielicker @libbythatcherssecretgf @taurus-baby-34 @grifffins @nutritionat @hyper-queer-fixated @taurus-baby-34 @ahsfan05 @chiefofmilfs @grifffins @justartever @sweetcheeksschemmenti @refreshingly-original

͙͘͡ dividers by : @cafekitsune

author’s note : happy fucking Valentine’s Day!!!!! The amount of times I had to pause and breathe ( and beat it really ) before continuing oh my fucking gosh. I'm panicking. but this was really fun to write and based on all of this ... I think i'm gay. and horny. I don't think there's anything new there when it comes to Lilia though ? ANYWHOoooo, I hope you enjoy this filth and this day <333333333

“Y/n, doll, as much I’m enjoying your pampering and affections,” a velvet chuckle emerged from Lilia’s chest, chin inclining so very slightly away from approaching sweetness delicately pinched within your fingers. “I believe I’m going to perish if I eat another chocolate.”

Her words drew a tender smile to your face, but your resolve remained steadfast, your purpose as clear and unwavering as a vow sworn in the quietest corners of your pulsating heart. This day belonged entirely to Lilia Calderu, a sacred offering of your time and affection, each moment deliberately crafted to bathe her in the light of your love. It mattered not whether the fourteenth of February had held significance in the chapters of your life before her; in her presence, it had contorted into something extraordinary — a celebration not of fleeting gestures but about her, solely and without limits.

Your devotion was not confined to the edges of this day alone, but today it burned brighter, fiercer — a love perpetual and unrelenting, given form in the warmth of your touch and the care behind every detail. Year-round, your affection lingered quietly in the subtleties of everyday moments, but today it was a roaring flame, alive and impossible to ignore, as though the universe itself had conspired to remind her of the depths of your heart.

To you, she was no mere muse or fleeting infatuation — everything is what Lilia was to you, and this day was your love song, rendered with every beat of your being.

The makeshift home you had modified for her spoke volumes of your boundless devotion, every attribute scrupulously chosen to reflect the depths of your affection. Crimson and scarlet balloons levitated languidly in every corner, their mylar surfaces adorned with sugary declarations of love that teetered between grimacing cheesy and utterly heartfelt. From the ceiling hung a cascade of handmade hearts, each one preciously imperfect, a signature of your touch that her keen gaze could not miss.

The floor was strewn with rose petals, their scattered pattern a cryptic language only you could decipher. That waking morning, the space had already been graced with seven bouquets of her most beloved flowers, their vibrant blooms nestled amongst an already extravagant collection of gifts, hand-written notes, and confections so lavish they seemed fit for royalty. The sheer abundance was almost overwhelming, a grand testament to the way your love could not be contained, spilling over in every conceivable way, saturating the air with warmth and adoration.

Any other day, she might have persuaded you to temper your enthusiasm. Not easily, of course — your adoration for her knew no bounds, and reining it in was a near-impossible feat. But Valentine’s Day held a different kind of magic for you, and Lilia, though unfazed by the festivity, found herself reveling in it, unveiling things she had long forgotten. It had been decades, centuries even, since she had basked in affection so freely offered.

For so long, the world had regarded her with suspicion, fear, even disdain, seeing only what they could not understand or simply not wanting to. But you — goodness, you, beheld her in all her entirety, every facet laid bare, and lavished upon her the boundless depths of your love; she was the very axis of your existence, the radiant sun around which your heart revolved in perpetual devotion to her blazing light.

Her gaze flitted down, catching a glimpse of the subtle protrusion of your lower lip as you hesitantly relented to her request. With a soft sigh, you returned the heart-shaped chocolate to its similar-shaped box, unwilling to risk even the faintest discomfort for her sake. Lilia smirked softly, a silent victory for her over-indulged stomach.

She eased back into the plush embrace of the single sofa, her body sinking comfortably against the cushions. With a gesture just as inviting, she opened her arms to you who had been perched upon the ottoman in front of her. Slowly, you followed, finding your rightful spot upon her lap as her arms entwined around you.

“Valentine’s Day,” Lilia began with a thick scoff, her voice tinged with its signature mix of charm and exasperation you knew so well, “is an utterly peculiar concept to me. A single day to celebrate love? It’s positively ridiculous.” Her fingers traced idle patterns along your arm as she spoke, a dash of humor and something more quieter. “As if love could ever be contained in twenty-four fleeting hours or reduced to flowers, ridiculous chocolates, and cliché notes.”

You mimicked her scoff with curious brimmed eyes. “You say that, but you have eaten your weight in those ‘ridiculous’ chocolates a few minutes ago.”

"Chocolates you shoved in my mouth without my consent, you mean." Though she could not help but chuckle. “I suppose you're right, in a way. Though I maintain it’s a human indulgence I don’t quite understand.” She tilted her chin slightly, eyes meeting yours with an ancient depth that always left you momentarily breathless. “Do you know how many lifetimes I’ve watched pass by? Lovers fumbling through grand gestures, driven by nothing more than obligation or fear of being forgotten.” Her voice softened, dipping into something reflective. “I’ve seen love reduced to performances, fleeting and insubstantial. It lost its meaning long ago.”

Her words carried the weight of centuries, yet you could not help but catch the faintest note of melancholy threading through her usual cynicism, always making your chest churn when you witnessed it.

“But look, here you are going through all I've done for you.” you gently murmured as you cradled her cheek in hopes to draw her into this moment, “Are you truly going to tell me this doesn’t mean something to you?”

Lilia blinked, and for a moment, her meticulously crafted armor seemed to falter. “You are a cliché romantic,” she grumbled. “Perhaps you’re the exception to my incredulity. That or I’m simply growing soft in my age.”

You smiled, your fingers rising to lovingly run through her curls. “You can pretend all you want, Lilia, but I know the truth. You like this. You like being loved, even if it’s ridiculous and messy and wrapped in heart-shaped balloons.”

“Well, you do have a peculiar way of over-feeding me, drowning me in flowers, and hanging all these love hearts just slightly too low so I can’t avoid bumping into them.” she muttered into the kiss pressed against your temple, “It’s almost like you’re trying to wear me down.”

You nudged your nose gently along the angle of her jaw, a subtle but intimate gesture, and tilted your head back just enough to look at her. “Is it so wrong,” you inquired, brows hitching in feigned incredulity, “to spoil the woman I love with the gifts and adoration she deserves?”

She chortled and rolled her eyes, hand drifting from your lower back to your hip to deliver a light pinch that sent a small jolt through you. “Mmm, not wrong at all,” she mused, and the way she tightened her hold on you betrayed how much she reveled in your attention. “I guess I could endure a little more spoiling if it means I get to keep you right here.”

Her gaze flickered downward — just briefly, to the delicate and intricate jewelry resting against your collarbone, its familiar weight a quiet reminder that she, too, had indulged in today’s sentimentality. A gift from her to you, given with little fanfare but impossible to mistake for anything other than what it was; strikingly reminiscent of her own, though more you. “... and if you insist on spoiling me, it is only fair I return the favor.”

A proud lovesick grin tugged at your lips, leaning further into her as she shifted to draw you closer still, until no space remained between you and you could only inhale the sole fragrance within her clothing, her flesh, here and there delivering a light kiss that lingered longer than the one before.

There were tender digits slipping beneath her shawl and sauntering up the line of her spine, sweet lips embracing her throat lovingly, leaving warm kisses in their wake as she responded with the sounds her innards stirred and the movement her head created: drawled-out hum, a slight head tilt to allow you more access.

Lilia was well aware you were the proud proprietor of wandering hands when it came to her. So it came with no surprise when she felt the subtle strokes of what felt like circles and hearts across and behind her shoulders grow deceptively idle, and she permitted their roaming about her body, allowing the pads of your fingers to spike the temperature on her already searing skin while her own pressed into your hips, her own thoughts and desire accumulating.

“However, speaking of gifts,” Then came that puckish lilt you recognized almost immediately. Her words ruffled through your hair, octave softer, arousing, velvety. “There is one in particular I’ve been thinking about all day. Something you won’t find in a box or tied with a ribbon.”

You pulled away for a second, caught the flickering blaze within her earthen irises and swallowed softly, already anticipating her next words. “Oh?” Your gaze became lidded, entranced by the slight purse of her mouth that enhanced the fine lines around. “And what would that be?”

“You.” Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but she gave you no time to respond, pressing a slow, painstaking kiss to the corner of your gaping mouth, her smile curling even wider and coy at the rouge left behind. She pulled back slightly, just enough to gauge your reaction, at the way your temerity faltered. “What do you say, darling? Will you spoil momma some more and give her what she wants?”

The way she utilized the title against you. The way her touch boldened, groped, teased, lingered, overwhelmed. “Use your words, my darling girl, I’m certain you can put that mouth to good use.”

Your hands crumbled the material of her shawl on her shoulders as your deep sigh was swallowed by Lilia, her salacious mouth coaxing a swell of sensations behind your chest that served to rouse a familiar warmth in your core, heat licking at the pulse between your legs.

“T-take what you want, Li—momma. please.”

The rather, to be blunt, sadistic part of the witch wished to ruthlessly, deridingly drag you to state specifics but her tenderness and yearn for you overpowered the desire, so instead she drifted her fingers along the hem of your lower garments, pondering, her eyes squinting before her fore and middle finger delivered two taps to your hip with a light kiss. 

"On your knees, baby."

You wasted not a second in consenting to her words. You yearned to hear her talk to you, to please her — you craved every bit of it, of her.  So before she knew it — though was not surprised in the slightest,  you were already descending to your knees right before her, going beneath the silk fabric of her skirts that swayed across her ankles. Your hands splayed across her calves, softly skimming along the taut muscle there before your touch ascended.

Lilia released the sweetest sigh, her thighs, coming into mouth-watering view as you rumpled her clothing up to her waist, clenching as your eyes held hers, those pretty eyes;  dewey, whiskey browns that taunted you. You were trembling with wanting to please her, to be good for her, to demonstrate just how deserving she was of love, of being pleased. The fevered heat in you swelled tenfold as your fingers climbed and deftly slid down her panties, a flushed red color and slightly drenched in her sex you may add, catching glimpse of the shine the second she was discarded from them.

She spread the slightest bit more, inviting you into her while yours clenched together beneath you as you stared at the apex of those tantalizing legs, and fuck, you will never not be breathless at the sight.

You allowed your thumb to push through her dampened folds, stopping at her pulsing clit, and began to partake in a pattern you knew she more than loved; gentle rubs, caring strokes, lingering presses.

The peak of your tongue darted out to lick your lips; you were drooling, feening from the mere idea of tasting her, and then you made your descent. Huffs of breaths hit her center, mingling with her growing wetness, and you refused to tear your eyes away from the cunt you made this drenched. 

“Where are your manners, doll? Hmm?” Breathless she was the second hot lips suckled on her inner thighs, making her shudder as you searched through the fog in your brain for those words she sought off your lips. It was hard, talking this much when all you wanted was to feel her slick seeping on your tongue.

“Can I, Lilia?” You exhaled against her lower stomach, kissing her delicately, sweetly, sucking on the soft skin in an attempt to gain her consent, “Can I please put my mouth on you? Fuck, can I make momma come?”

You begged so sweetly, so much devotion lodged into those abyssal eyes she knew she could not deny in this moment, all to receive the most sensational hum of approval and the feel of silver bejeweled fingers soothingly running through your hair. “Put your mouth on momma, baby.”

You brought your lips to her pulsing clit, delivering a soft open-mouthed kiss for her legs to relax for a split second, a soft exhale traveling through your ears only for it to hitch when your tongue, even and flat, lulled a broad swipe through the very length of her, adding the slightest of pressure that had her nerves spasming. 

You went right for it, slurping her tasteful-coated folds as though it were your only purpose. “Goodness, babyy…” Your sucks were masterful, the sensation of you trapping her clit between your lips snatching the air from her lungs, evident in the push her heaving chest created. “Good … hmm good girl.”

“I’ll do anything to please you.”

Her vulva bloomed like tulips in the peak of spring, glistening like sticky substances that smeared across it. That tongue of yours, impatient as ever, eager as ever. It made a home in her hole instantly and she rose an octave in her moans, your name dripping seductively from her parted lips. You were starving for her, famished as you lapped her, softly prodding her wider with one single palm wrapped around her inner thigh. “ ‘M doing good?”

“Y-you're doing such a great job, sweet girl.” You saw the way her head nearly became one with the cushion behind her as two of your fingers, fore and middle finger, swiftly slid inside, rubbing those gushing walls, curling deliciously, slowly. 

You did not dare to falter with your wet muscle’s movement, your chin coming to prop upon your palm to gain firmer licks upon her swollen clit, rewarded with the ooze of her gush flowing like a river around you, your own slick drenching your undergarments. "You sound so fucking pretty, Lilia..."

Wet squelching noises and breathy moans followed by praise enveloped the room’s air. Your brain was pushed into a mind-bending utopia, it felt so fucking good to be the one in this position. The more speed and tongue you exerted, the lower her moans became and the more her walls swallowed digits as they carved in her. Her sharp inhale churned your brain in the best way there was, perspiring skin prickling in awe of her voluptuous body and her distorted expressions, the scrunches of her prominent nose, the puckers and lines of her mouth. So beautiful, you moaned against her.

The concept of time halted momentarily. An intake of breathing, sharp. A heartbeat, wrecked. Heat and love, tangled — pouring over, consuming, drowning you both the second her juices drizzled down your hand, your chin, and none of it going untasted by you.

Sweet assuring kisses pressed into her inner thighs, kneading her flesh while you propped yourself up to stand, questioning how she was feeling. You expected to see those eyes of hers closed, taking a brief moment to herself yet she was entirely fixated on you, pensive and lust-filled eyes boring into yours, and she reached to tug you back into your place on her, with her, upon her lap to enrich your lips with a sweet kiss. 

Your head slanted whenever she pulled away for the slightest moment, pretty browns darting between your eyes before yanking you forward, mouths colliding. Instantly coiling your fingers into your silver locks, your grip feened and was overwhelmed by her, thumbs pushing into the lined flesh of her temples.

When you sucked in a sharp breath, she took advantage in deepening the kiss, savoring your taste, her taste; every stroke of her tongue was felt in every shiver erupting over your skin, in the inexplicable heaviness in your chest, the curling and scorching sensations below your navel when her touch blazed around your thighs, how her teeth dug every so often and gently into the plush of your lower lip.

“L-Lilia , please, please, I need you—”

Your breath stuttered, cutting sharply at your throat when her palm trailed over the curve of your ass, kneading into the supple flesh that had jolts clawing up your spine. Touches became languid and dizzying, and you groaned when her fingers barely brushed over your entrance, nothing but sheer slick heat eagerly greeted her, and a low hum came from her. Something of a familiar spark, firm and sizzling hot was nearly close to striking between your slick folds, conjured by the very tips of her middle and ring finger that caused your hips to stutter.

“Oh, fretful girl,” she crooned, your longing hole constricting ferociously in anticipation. Lilia placed a capable palm up against the back of your neck, squeezing all tenderly and possessively. Your lips parted and released a soft moan, hearing her hum into the curve of your throat when she drew you in for a moment, pressing soft kisses along the length of it

“Divine Mother, you’re so desperate, baby, aren’t you? Willing to let me take anything I want, hmm?” she tsk’ed in concealed sympathy and a helpless ‘oh’ prolonged from your mouth as you shamelessly rutted against her stomach.

Her voice lured you into that inescapable place only she could reach, where every thought, every breath, every segment of your being belonged solely to her. It left you untethered, your mind clouded with nothing but her, until existing beyond her presence felt impossible — unthinkable.

You could feel her rings touch the edge of your entrance, not ever going in as she made sure to rub two fingers against you, or how she made it certain in nudging the cool rims assisted with the spasming fury of her magic against your clit, watching perspiration collect and bead over the crown of your head and to your fluttering lashes.

She dragged her digits up against your bare cunt, beseeching eyes tunneling into hers as they slowly dragged down, never faltering in their firm pressure. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down. Slowly then shoving between, limbs halfway being swallowed by your narrowing walls. Your head attempted to fall upon the space of her shoulder trying to find some type of anchorage, yet the firm grip she had upon the back of your head was difficult to go against. She was endeared in seeing your pretty features, all scrunched and pathetic. Her pathetic girl.

“You’re going to come, aren’t you, darling, and you’re going to give me more?”

You choked on your own words but nodded frantically, chin dipping down and gyrating your hips forward in hopes to engulf the entirety of her fingers. “Yes, mmmm, imma come! you can do whatever — whatever, please, jus’ put them in—”

Lifting her lips to slide over your cheekbone, she pressed them to your temple as she increases the pace of her fingers. She did not need you to utter it twice — she was going to give in to you this time, uttering something latin beneath her breath and allowing her bare fingers to slip in entirely. Pumping through the squelching velvet, your hips canted against her until you found yourself moaning at the way she abundantly tore you apart.

Whines and whimpers rolled into heavy and loud moans that rumbled in the depths of your throat, eyes shuttering for a moment as her lips stroked across yours. It was carnal and leisured, the way she ruthlessly drilled into you, how sinfully wet it was as she lapped up the lingering taste of your damp chamber, the strong and addicting flavor that is solely you as she brought you impossibly closer, your thighs digging into each side of her hips.

“Come, baby, come for momma.” The coil snapped at her murmur, bursting and scattering — a euphoric feeling that surged entirely through you like a strong current, threatening to yank you underwater as you came, her palm glistening with your wetness. 

Hands flexed in their position on her shoulders to her nape and she took that as an invitation, a plea falling from your panting mouth. Once again, her warm lips so very gently pushed against your own, your exhales heaving when she departed from you, just to repeat her actions over and over again, lingering a second longer against you every time with the assistance of a soft praise. “Hi, baby... my lovely girl.”

You gave her a dazed and dumbfounded smile, still floating, barely conscious but allowed yourself to kiss her. "Hi, Lilia."

A sigh whirled from your throat like smoke, barely there, but unmistakably content. Lilia hummed, pleased and indulgent, sweetly drawing as she held you, cradling your head against her neck. Your body was pliant, yielding beneath her touch, molded into her frame as though it had always been meant to rest there.

You believed it was over. That now, you could melt into the cradle of her warmth, spent, sated, claimed. Yet then, she moved. A slow, intended shift beneath you, the sudden flex of her thighs, the pressure against the dip of your spine pushing you further into her, the featherlight graze of her breath carrying something perilous, something unfinished.

“I hope you know we aren’t done here, darling.” Smooth, tinged with amusement because she knew. Knew the foolish little thought that had flickered through your mind, that you had reached the peak, the end, the final wrap ups of this yearly festivity. But that tone, rich with relishment and something proprietorial, spoke to you otherwise.

You whimpered as her fingers traced lazy, knowing paths down over your sensitized and soaked flesh, a promise in every measured touch. While she planted a loving kiss on your forehead, she lowly uttered, “we’ve only just begun.”

The atmosphere enveloping you was sultry, and the room now smelt not only like Lilia's addicting fragrance but of you, your sex. You laid across the tangled bedsheets upon your shared mattress, thighs forced apart into the pillow's plushness, pussy spread open for your lover's filthy onslaught.

Lilia had situated herself between your legs with a plush pillow propped beneath her arm, flushed cheek nestled against your inner thigh while smiling at the sight of your face; mouth stained with her lipstick, jaw slack, crumbling right before her very eyes.

But as her head slanted down, this sight had become her prior fixation; tender, swollen lips glistening, thighs constricting and painted with juices flowing from your pussy, walls fluttering senselessly around nothing but the deep exhales and the nudges from her nose she granted you, spasming to feel more, the scent intoxicating and flooding her whole.

“ I need you to hold it in for a moment, can you do that for me, doll?” Ringed digits clasped around your hips and drew you closer, planting a soft kiss on your thigh.

“Lilia, I don’t think I can —”

Your weak protest contorted into a breathless shriek as burning specks returned and a sharp smack collided with your upper leg. “I thought you wanted to spoil momma with everything she wanted on this day, that you'd 'do anything to please her', ” Her lovely pout caused you to whimper before your blown out gaze averted behind her, hypnotized by the silhouette of her naked, curved figure. “Don’t tell me you’re going to deny me this.”

You did not have time to think or speak as soon as her tongue peeked out to tease you with the essence that was so distinctly you. An audible slurp caused your entire body to freeze as her lips brushed and evoked the bursts of magic over your bundle of nerves, watching as its yellow hue shimmer while it swelled, reflecting the sparkling droplets of your arousal. While she suckled on it softly, the tiny action from her lips made it go away, freeing your clit from her magic's assault only momentarily, leaving it open for her mouth to waste no time in latching onto.

“Fuck!—N-no, wait, s-slow down—” Too much it was for you, trying to retreat from a mouth so welcoming, so sloppy, so overwhelming. But her arms coiled around your thighs firmly, never daring to tear those brown depths away from you as she slowly hoisted you over her shoulders, preventing you from any chance of escape.

“You owe momma this treat,” she murmured, receiving a pathetic whine. “Need to taste my baby. So let me damn have it.”

She clutched you close, the flat of her tongue kneading through your slit up to your nub, fervent chocolate hues daring you to look away. She was utterly relentless, sending jolts of tormented pleasure through you, each mewl and cry motivating her.

She savored your pussy again and again and again, the pace was slow, torturous. It had you sobbing as narrowed waves of scorching sensations made you pulse and ache, the weight of her arms keeping you in place. She quivered with anticipation, because how could something so quintessential be hard to tame at the moment when she yearned for it?

“L-lili, i need a minute, please—” you softly rasped out, cunt pulsating ways you did not think it possibly could and brought your hand down to her unruly curls. The haste of her head shake had your swollen nub following her smiling mouth, her words vibrating through your nerves.

“I don’t think so, doll,” A firm suction enveloped your folds, wet lips leaving as soon as they came pulling a cry out of you. “You still have some more in you. I taught you better than this.”

Hurt feigned in the quirk of her brows and pushed the corners of her mouth down. “Trust me, baby. Don’t you trust momma?” Your chin trembled while trying to tie together a coherent fucking sentence, instantaneous regret tightening around your throat at Lilia’s sharp intake of breaths and stern look.

She could sense the way your gaze was about to avert from hers until her right palm glided down your thigh, the warmth of it simmering the already perspired flesh as it slid its way down before pinching.

“Eyes on me always, understand?” Fingertips dug into the quivering muscle, and it had you moaning before you exhaled and slowly nodding. “Be a good girl and come again. I know you can. You can take another.”

Her tongue lolled out of her mouth, the velvet muscle she was blessed with smoothly grazing the surface of her teeth, the sole display caused a jolt to pulse down between the center of your legs before the plane of it skimmed to flatten languidly over your swollen pearl. She blew out a chuckle at the tears kissing your waterline, clumping your pretty lashes when they flittered down, curtaining the broadness of your pupils while whimpering out an ‘okay, momma’.

You back bowed at the broad touch of her lips, fingers digging into the mattress at the precipitation of her tongue’s wide strides. The pulsing of your heart halted for a second, the riot of sensations she conjured up seemed unfathomable once her coaxed praises rumbled through you.

Your head receded back, mindlessly writhing and squirming with no sense of rhythm and flow behind your movements. The sharp coiling in your stomach became irrefutable and compelling as her tongue gently traversed the contours of your folds, descending towards your oozing entrance, soon lapping vigorously. Without any hurry, sucking and licking as if it was the sweetest thing conjured in the wretched world.

Lilia was drunk on the waves of your sex, praising with her tongue as you release once, twice, three, almost four fucking times, wide irises pinpointing themselves to the moisture — practically drenches cascading from your core. Her touch rose to graze the already sensitive lips of your cunt that caused any air from your lungs to burn enticingly.

The bend of your knees hoisted over her collarbones as she tenderly shifted you closer to her mouth. "Look at me now.” She firmly instructed once she sensed your final orgasm approaching, and this time her fingers slipped themselves in your sopping pussy, coating them with her spit and the slick she collected before ramming them back within your suffocating walls.

You watched as her ringed digits bore into your depths, tugging a weep out of you — filthy, rasped with spit when she nudged that special spot. Lilia fucked your cunt with ferocity, her other hand coming to coax your revolving hips.

You were quivering, your legs stretching wider as those nimble fingers acted in and out of your hungry hole. “Would you look at that, darling? How my fingers perfectly slip in and out of my baby’s cunt, as if they were divine to fit there?”

And there it was — that sharp burning pleasure and pain coiling and twisting deep within you from the venereal words she wondrously uttered, all of it unraveling with a throaty sob, racketing your every limb with its fervency.

She slowly hoisted up, lips glazed with your arousal before she licked over their coating. "Good girl." she murmured clear enough for you to hear. You did not respond and she did not expect you to, yet she knew you caught it once your hand stroked her hair and hummed. She simply waited and gave you a moment to catch your breath, soft kisses swatting away the tears upon your cheeks. To gather what was left of your energy and make do with it, because you were uncertain about what more she was going to take from you.

And the thought alone could not wait any longer. The exhilaration of using a recent gift, one she managed to get for you — and her, really, rippled through her when she climbed off the bed and walked towards your shared dresser. Peering down at it once in her held, she ran a finger along the very length with a wry curve of a smile, one of those smiles that melted your innards and jittered your limbs all at once the second your irises came to view, only for them to broaden and become endearingly astonished at the sight of her; unveiled, raw, unabashed, ethereal.

“W-where did you get that, l-love?” Your hazed question stumbled when you see what had been tenderly slid up your aching hips and nestled between your legs, already pushing yourself up and scooting back against the headboard. She did not respond just yet, the proud smile lifting the corners of her mouth and the spark in her orbs spoke loud enough for your eyes to once again widen.

The weariness nearly completely disintegrated from your system when she bestrode you, her weight firmly pinning you down while rotund thighs framed your sides. Palms instinctively planted over them, slightly sinking your teeth into your lower lip at the sight of what was now between your legs, at how it leaned up and against your stomach, shining with a generous coating of lubricant.

The golden wisps of her magic appeared at the tips of her flexing fingers before they came down to make contact with the silicone, softly sizzling along your lower abdomen, and before you knew it, something felt different. The subtle details upon it were more enhanced, the once solid veins aligning, curling around and gaining a liquid amber tinge.

It was not just the sight of the toy that floored you, but Lilia herself; the soft curves of her full hips seemed to invite touch, while the gentle sag of her breasts added a depth of allure, their weight swaying with each breath and movement, catching the flicker of light like a living sculpture. Freckles and faint lines traced over her shoulders and down her chest, a map of stories and moments etched into her skin, and all of it had you overwhelmed, enthralled, salivating even.

Her head dipped just slightly, breathing out when your mouth moved across her jaw and down the silken texture of her neck. “So beautiful, Lilia...” you inhaled her fragrance, teeth subtly grazing the tender flesh beneath her ear, hands gliding up her body and you could not help the whimper leaving you the second you became more in contact with her flesh. Gosh, she was so pretty, so lovely, engulfing your heart in a blazing fire that conjured an ache you could not, you did not want to soothe.

You came in contact with the elegant hollow of her clavicle, tongue dipping so tenderly to taste the subtly dusted skin there, gaze soon falling over the older witch’s breasts. It was instant, the reflex of your hands, your mouth taking over before your mind could process; eager hands cupping and raising the heaviness of her mound, salivating mouth latching onto her taut nipple.

Fuck, how you wanted to envelop her entirely, yet much to your dismay, instead you settled for swirling the delicate peak between your teeth — licking, nibbling, sucking, marking while your hand kneaded the other.

“Hungry for me, baby?” She rasped with a huff of a chuckle, tangling her fingers to your hair and cradling the back of your head. “You like the taste of momma?”

“I’m always hungry for you,” you muttered around her, giving a firm suction. “I’ll never get enough of you.” A long moan tumbled out her chest at the low timbre of your words; the feel of liquid heat pooling her areola, at the sensual gnaw of your incisors. You gave the same attention to her other tit, your palm coming down to press against the small of her back, pushing her deeper into you as if that would give you more access to her wholeness.

This went on for a few or so minutes, meaty flesh bitten, dark nipples flushed and pruned, coated with your spit. “Alright, love, that’s enough,” she groaned softly, tearing your latching mouth away from her raw nub. “I prefer your mouth somewhere else now.”

She hitched herself higher, a leg curling over your shoulder, pulling you closer. Your mouth watered at the sight of her — her arousal dripping, glistening, a silent plea to be savoured.

Lifting your gaze, you sought her approval, and it came in the form of a half-lidded stare, a smoldering decree spun from silk and embers. "Go on, baby.”

There was something grandiose and something virtuous in this — something beyond hunger, beyond mere indulgence. To witness her like this, to be the sole recipient of such a sight, her unguarded pleasure, was a privilege that left you breathless. The power she held over you was all-encompassing, from her actions, from the simple act of breathing, something more than sexual as her essence coated your lips. In the way her very existence unraveled you.

The way her fluids became the nectar your tongue savored as you thirsted, consumed it. How your wet cheek nuzzled into her inner thigh before diving back in, absorbing yourself into her flesh as you palmed her by the ass closer, finger pads digging into her cheeks.

“There we go, baby … r-right there, fuuuck–” She tamed every savage glide and stroke of your tongue with her palms upon your head. Rigid breaths contained the exact pace she wanted you to create, though in truth, her guidance was pointless compared to your capabilities, your whole nature in pleasuring her from the way you sent her spiraling into iridescent specks of light and euphoric bliss was what she felt recoiling in her abdomen, soon feeding both your sinful cravings as she came.

You were intoxicated with the palatable taste of her pussy, giving her ovations with your tongue through her prolonged orgasm still trembling through her. Her thigh then was descended, sweetly smiling down at you.

Your silence lumbered a concern through her, leading her fingers down to gently curl around the sides of your neck, thumbs prodding your chin up. There was a spasm of worry across your features, earnest eyes peering up at her. “Have you uh …. ever used …”

She harbored a gentle grin, her hold on your neck carrying more pressure. You could not contain the gasp of ecstasy when she did so, throat dipping with each eager swallow of your inhales. "You think an old witch like me can’t have a fun sex life?” She paused for a moment before adding with a tilt of a smirk, "But yes. I've had some ... practice. By myself, for you."

She chuckled at the moan that erupted through you. As she soothed your head with her touch, the illusions of her touching, fucking herself just to prepare for this had an ambition growing to touch her once more, to stroke away the loose curls from her bare shoulders, to litter her pretty skin with sweet kisses, to let your hands linger over her breasts, let them travel farther down and act upon what she had planned.

"You will be able to feel every bit of me as I of you, darling. It may overwhelm you for a moment." Your brows comically rose to your hairline, lips parted at this interesting revelation as your hands softly glided up her body. The blow of her breath muddled your mind as she pulled you to her mouth, words aerated as she continued, "Should you move and come without my consent, you will suffer the consequences, understood?"

Her thumbs pushed against the corners of your pouting mouth. She watched as your eyes broadened in beseech and frustration, wanting to retort at this hell-brought request, your grip on her hip tightening. She only shook her head once more, a warning streaking her features before her hips began elevating, dragging her soaking cunt down your coiling abdomen.

Inexorably, the plump head of your shaft in your other palm was gently pumped as she began to slowly settle down, parting her folds and descending deeper and deeper until you were completely enveloped by her moistened warmth. Each slow inch put in was a revelation, a quiet step closer towards undoing.

The instant there was nothing left to put in, Lilia trapped the strap inside her soft walls, restricting your movement at the same time your glossed eyes began to roll to the back of your mind. Her wet and obscene glides, the exquisite feelings, the heat derived from stretching her velvety cunt wide; you could feel all of her as she molded to your shape, tugging you deeper into her decadence. The stimulation weakened your muscles, eyes watching her every move intently to closing on their own as if it was too much for you to handle.

"Don't move yet, baby."

Oxygen spiked and stuttered, spewing out in soft, broken whimpers, the octave raw with the weight of new territory. Sensation overtook thought, each nerve set ablaze, every fluttering pulse a hymn of ecstasy. As if in a trance, you did just as you were told. Pupils twitching under your closed eyelids, forehead resting against her neck with a deep inhale of her aroma in hopes for it, for her to alleviate this pulsing ache.

"Are you alright? Darling – shit, talk to me. Does this feel good, hmm?"

“Yes, yes, it’s amazing…” you whimpered into her skin, a shiver clawing up your spine and your arms wrapped around her tightly. “I-it almost hurts, Lilia.”

Her gentle chuckle nuzzled across your temple. “There we go, it's alright, doll,” she sweetly soothed, features content, caught in their own bliss. She grabbed ahold of your jaw, fingertips tenderly kneading the skin there and tilted your face towards hers. “Momma will make it better for you, okay ? I won't move yet. The pain will cease … you just have to trust the process.”

Her gaze flitted down to your breasts, reminiscing their very shape, the way each droplet of sweat painted down your hued skin, somehow accentuating every detail of your body. The moment of her staring was for a handful of seconds, yet to both of you it felt like a lifetime. Your hands, having a hopeless mind of their own, trailed from her hipbone to her stomach.

Searching your eyes for a moment, wanting the final approval for her to continue, if she was truly certain you could handle more of what she was about to take and give.

And you could. You would and trusted her blissing actions. It was evident in each keening sweep of your fingers along the soft slope of her stomach, the way the brims of your teeth scraped across her lips, her neck and shoulders, down her breasts. It made the heat take over, a raging conflagration rising up within her until it surged into her starting pace; slow, steady, grinding.

Your mind became clouded and the pulsing between your legs nearly unbearable — Lilia could feel every curl and divot and spasm you made inside of her. Nonetheless, you did not dare to thrust yet, having an inkling that if you disobeyed her, she would make sure you would pay dearly and would not allow your own climax whatsoever.

But none of it mattered, you did not care. You, and her, were nothing but hunger, aching to collapse into one. Her breath hitched, breasts rising and falling in desperate surrender, hips rolling like tides that knew no shore. Rings sank into your tender flesh, pressing, pleading, marking.

And she rode you slow — so unbearably, exquisitely slow, her rhythm a measured torture, each descent capturing your breath, each ascent leaving you needy and empty. You gasped, strangled on a whimper, fingers digging into her hips with shaking need, but she pressed a firm hand to your clavicle, her lips curving with warm intent that clashed with the wicked glint in her eye.

"Nuh-uh uh. Stay still, doll."

It was fucking agony. Limbs winding and tightening, body locked beneath her will, the fevered hunger wracking you unbearable. You could not thrust up, could not rut into the snug clasp of her, could not chase the brink of pleasure that lumbered like a sunburst just out of reach. You wanted to give more, wanted to implore her, whines and pleas poured from your glistened mouth as her walls devoured your girth and your hands were everywhere and anywhere, squeezing, kneading, pulling.

"Please—"

"You’re doing so good for me, you know that?" Her voice was low and quivering, leg coiling around your lower abdomen, every blissful tremble your body created being swallowed by her curves. Her question drew out whimpers of ‘yes’s into her skin, perspiring forehead shoved beneath her jawline. You clutched at her supple thighs, trying to burrow deeper into her when hips grounded full force onto yours.

Her lips kiss over the shell of your ear, fingertips tenderly stroking the dampened skin of your neck in hopes to ease your shaking and urges to move. "if you keep being a good girl, momma will let you move." Her voice filled with melted promise, patiently awaiting for you to open your eyes and look at her.

When you did, you were immediately pushing your mouth on hers. Tongue and teeth ravaged hers like it was the final thing you would ever do. Biting, slurping, kissing, exploring every nook and inch of her mouth until what was left of her mind hazed, until the air in her lungs was sucked and consumed by you. Until all she could do was feel the way you throbbed in her warmth, dark honey and fire, ripe nectar dripping down your length, tremors racketing the center of your back.

Finding the slightest of strength and clarity in yourself, you grasped it, letting it bolden your actions as your teeth scraped her lower lip. Moaning, she squeezed around your neck — loving how the band of your gifted necklace coiled around her knuckles, how she recognized your deep gulps and swallows while she pressed her ringed digits down the middle of your throat just a little bit more, not too much nor too faint, wanting to notice and experience each flex and breathy moan you would form, wanting to see the after-burned marks of her thick rings tainting your skin.

Dazed you were, captivated by the lingering musk of perspiration and sex, the essence of it branding your inflamed flesh and shriveled sheets. Your needs and desires sunk into the deep depths of her venereal oceans, begging to be combined with hers, and that was when she gave you her word.

“Move, baby, come on, move for me.”

You wasted no second in moving your hands to her ass for leverage, levitating your hips up to meet hers halfway, one that ejected the breath from her lungs, that crumbled her to the very marrow of her bones. "Fuck, y/n!" Her mouth tore from yours as every feeling she had ever experienced welled within her stomach to her chest, all at once, pushing her to her third climax.

She could not brace for the next thrust, could not form a coherent thought or string together a thorough breath. Only felt as you sunk into her deeply, again. And again. And again. Until her back curved so prettily like a bow drawn too tight, until she was gasping against you and she was nothing but liquified limbs and open-mouthed surrender.

You were moving so well, so inwardly, that she forgot how to properly kiss you. Her lips parted against yours, but she did not meet your desperate kiss. She only moaned, huffed, the tip of her tongue grazing yours; wet, messy, panting.

“A-am I—” Strangled were your words, broken gasps as your sweat-damp hair tickled her forehead, rocking into her with purpose. “being good for you, momma?”

Soft and uncertain your tone was in the way that made her hazily smile against your skin before she lowly moaned at feeling your fullness within her. The fingers of one hand gently pinched your chin up, the others abraded over the back of your shoulder and it made you shudder, scorch, searching for her approval. It fueled you more than anything, more than the pleasure, more than the way she clenched around you, like velvet, like a vice.

Her breath stumbled, shuddering with each thrust, dragging through the swollen heat of her, making her feel every thick inch. "You're doing better than good, baby,” she exhaled loudly, breasts arching into your wet cavern. "So, so amazing, so eager for me —" Hope twinkled your gaze, motivating you with punctured thrusts, groaning as soon as she tugged you back by the hair and dove into your mouth. Into you, the wild and endless incandescence between your flaring bodies.

“T—tell me more,” Your throat was hoarse, whining with another flex of your hips that hit her just right and made her mouth form a perfect ‘o’, your tongue swatting around the enticing lines forming. “Tell me more, Lilia, fuck, please, momma.”

There was earnestness in your voice; to hear and absorb, to be at service of every pure wish and filthy desire as if it was your soul purpose. But she fed that self pleasure of yours:

“You want more, darling?” she mused and collided harder against you in order to meet your motion halfway, clutch winding around your shoulders, watching faint and pretty blemishes bloom beneath the thick silver of her jewelry.

“Y-yes—”

Satisfied with your answer, she began to increase your pace and returned to her firmness. “You want to be momma’s good girl?”

“Yes—yes—yes, momma, please—”

Your whines were cut short as her hands came up to tangle in your hair, each individual strand wrapping around her knuckles, her fingertips until she had you tied in ways that felt so fucking perfect and overwhelming all in one tug and whisper: “Then give momma everything, baby. Come.”

Hitching one leg higher up your side, you waste no time in ravaging her until you feel your climax peaking, your frame shaking out of your own control. Nearly out of breath, hysterical trying to find rhythm in your movements from such an intense high after being edged for so long, from trying to focus on pleasing her.

“Good job, darling...” she crooned breathlessly while her sore hips rock against your bruised ones. The band churning in her abdomen twisted to its end over and over at the sound, the nasty feel of slick heat and her skin colliding on yours, fingers bruising and squeezing into the soft and meaty globes of her ass while your mouth moved lower and latched around her nipple.

One last shaky thrust knocked her out of reality and into a world where only the two of you existed. All she saw was her reflection in your blown-out gaze, and all you saw was her: her open and faint red lips, half-lidded chocolate irises, and tumble of silver locks. Your mind was clouded with images of Lilia, your Lilia. This orgasm, its fervency, was nothing similar to those in your past. It slithered through you and into her, coating every fiber and nerve in your beings. The shock of it made you numb to any other existing feeling. All you knew was this, all you wanted her to know, and to experience was the overpowering feeling of coming inside Lilia Calderu as she enveloped you wholly.

Her praises, sweet and gentle, danced in your ears in a melody only familiar to you, soft presses of her lips trickled sweetness upon your flushed cheeks. Digits, gentle as moonlight, traced the rise and fall of your breath, their touch outlining the swell of your breasts, sending a shiver of longing that ripples through you.

The warmth of her fingertips glided over your shoulders and tender forearms as if drawing forth the stars themselves, igniting the quiet spaces where weariness once lived.

“You did so well for me, love…” Your head was tucked into the dip that drew her shoulder and neck together, inhaling deeply. “Was it good? Did I… did you enjoy yourself?”

You hummed and kissed your way up her neck and jaw, to her cheek, and lastly, lovingly her lips. “Honestly, that was the best sex of my life, and I’m hoping now you know why Valentine’s means that much because .... holy fuck.”

A lovely smile illuminated her entire face, mirrored within the brown pools of her eyes, scrunched nose nudging over the bridge of your own. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Lilia.”

Your own smile faltered at the feel of Lilia delivering a fluttering and squelching squeeze around you, lowly moaning as she hummed and regained that titillating spark in her eye. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby.”

This day had opened Lilia’s mind to a string of new things about you, and she was beginning to learn a thing or so about herself as well, evident in how she allowed for you to shift positions with her now beneath you with a wide grin. It was only now, as she surrendered to your touch, she was beginning to wholly comprehend why exactly her lover adored Valentine’s Day so much, and that maybe it did not exactly lose its full meaning.

[someweirdoreblogger]

Burning Spice Cookie is passion ignited, albeit not in the moral side of the conscious spectrum. He is quite affectionate, actually, more than you may give him credit for.

Do not mistake it as humane, as a blind genosity. It comes not from a moral source of obligation or even gerenal priority.

Once the deranged loin-a Beast amongst monsters-the corrupted Lord himself is invested, your scent guiding freely through the droves, to shake him off your trail will prove diffcult. Burning Spice is not so kind to let prey go by unscathed, untouched by his mighty axe; His shadow stalks the trees, quaking, a deafening roar booms in the distance.

The Hunt begins.

You dare infringe upon his heart, you invade his senses, scrabble his thoughts; you really think you can simply crawl back home unscathed?

What home have you to turn too? Who would even think to take you back with the mark of a Beast weighing down your back?

Luckily, this debt can be paid. Paid solely by your own parry and peril. Burning Spice will remember your tracks better than the back of his own hand.

Once he comes, just an arrogant march away, you will know. The world itself will alert, not you, but itself to his sudden existence.

The birds will cease their music, the ground will shake and stumble; struggling to keep its foundation stable and lively. The lakes, far and wide, the sky, the kisses of clouds and weak leaves rip itself apart, dancing in the reflection below. It ripens in sheer unbalanced tension, seemingly frightened; the water will ripple like static, wavering under a wave of immense, exotic shock, and pressure.

The wind is ecstatic, nature's personal enthusiasm; it moans, groans, and sighs heavy in your ear. Desperate to be heard.

You will taste him in the air, a suffocating sulfur and ghastly spice, it threatens to choke weaker beings. Feel him fester like sparks on your crust, hair standing up stiff, dough throbbing. Tingling and blazing hot, a Beast's presence is a neigh-suffocating weight. You will never know peace until he deems you worthy of such.

Burning Spice roams triumphant, forever hungry. An immovable glare in the sky, a blinding scorch to the people's merger eyes, looking down civilization in cold indifference; The same way a god regurds his subjects. Just ants, peasy insects, building their anthills, simply hoping to piece together a safe haven for themselves in a universe far too large to tackle alone.

The Vitue of Change, The Lord of Destruction, will stand tall alone. Boundless from any chain as mortals rise, spoil and fall. A proud witness to the beginning, present, and the end, the natural tides of history sow in the seeds of devastation he leaves behind. He is a slave to his base desires, as all Cookies are; a chaotic harbinger of endless malice and merciless strife.

But he is still yet a man. A heartless monster in a man's skin. A Cookie baked in the same oven as his fellow kin, a great Beast, seeking to completely deprive himself of sheer boredom and simplicity.

All immortals carry the burden, the smooth erosion of time is not lost even to Beasts, as the ocean inevitably swipes a wet hand over the sand. He lives long and simply withstands, and he stares at the lesser mass in a bubbling, volcanic envy, hanging loose like a knot on his shoulders; the deeper things, the pleasant things. The majority of it stems from an infectious curiosity, aching hunger boiling in the depths of a Beast.

An unstoppable force suspended in a space completely at its mercy.

Burning Spice, gerenally, is an incredibly expressive person; entertainment, living life to the fullest drives his very soul off the edge of madness and carnage. His being is a godly sight to behold, and he wears this infernal arrogance in fine silks and peakish sneers. The weak tremble beneath the heel of their superiors, the Beast of Destruction is bloody pride embodied.

And this God, this Beast will strave for your worship; shall rip it from the dying, rotting hands of the torn world.

Carnal, burnt crimson in abhorrent brutality, Burning Spice is honestly an upfront sort. He won’t shy away from confrontation, solemn. He knows what he needs, what he wants, so he will steal it if one ever dares refuse it from him.

What is inevitable is virtue, Burning Spice knows this in his very jam. He does hold some semblance of responsibility and honor, albeit it won’t make him any less immorally stubborn or hot-headed. He approaches a desired interest alike how a lion stalks his prey; the same way he approaches a potential hunt, with fierce, burning determination and endless persistence.

[mononijikayu]

chasing heaven — geto suguru.

“You shouldn’t love me.” he finally said, his voice low, almost pained. “It’s unequal. I would taint your name, your reputation. You’re much younger than me, and you deserve someone who can offer you the future you deserve. I can’t… I’m not looking to marry, not now. I have my duties, my career—” “I don’t care about any of that.” you interrupted, your voice firmer now, driven by the strength of your feelings. “I don’t care about reputation or duty. I only care about you, about what we could have together. I want you to be with me, Suguru. Not as my brother’s general, but as the man I love.”

GENRE: alternate universe - sengoku jidai au!;

WARNING/S: angst, fluff, romance, love, age-gap (reader is in her early 20s, suguru is early 30s), hurt/comfort, nsfw, mild smut, falling in love, friendship, comfort, hurt, pregnancy, sexual intercourse, protectiveness, subsequent marriage, happy ending, depictions of misogyny, depiction of pregnancy, mention of parting, mention of war, mention of misogny, mention of children, mention of seppaku, satoru is an overprotective, loving brother, general-warrior! suguru!, lady gojo! reader;

WORD COUNT: 9k words

NOTE: some of this is a bit inspired by abelard and heloise, who are like one of the most interesting love depictions and intellectuals in history. and bit of the ending came from the outlaw king??? the meeting at the beach??? yeah, we got that in the temple. i wanted to keep this short, but it ended up getting longer and longer and i feel like you're sick of reading long fics. i'll try to do better next time~ anyway, i still hope you enjoy this. i love you!!! <3

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•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

YOU THOUGHT THIS DAY WOULD NEVER COME. But somehow, it has. In the quiet stillness of the temple, you had grown accustomed to the gentle rhythms of monastic life. The mornings began with the melodic chime of bells, the scent of incense filling the air as you joined the nuns in their prayers. Your world was small, contained within the temple walls, but it was peaceful—a safe haven amidst the chaos of a warring Japan.

But that peace you knew of, in this aloof mountain temple, was shattered the day your brother came.

You had always known of him, the brother who was more myth than man, a legend whispered among the nuns, among servants, among town’s folk who visited the temple. Gojo Satoru, the warrior fighting to bring the country out of disaster, was a name that carried weight even within these sacred walls.

He was the eldest, the one your mother had borne long before the war consumed the land. But you had never met him, had only the faintest memories of a mother who held you close before the temple became your home.

When the day arrived, you were summoned to the temple gate. The nuns had prepared you, dressing you in the finest robes the temple could offer, your hair carefully arranged as befitting the sister of a warrior. They had spoken in hushed tones, reminding you of your duty, of the homage you owed to the man who was your blood, your kin. But you felt a tremor of unease, an uncertainty that gnawed at the edges of your calm.

And then he appeared.

Tall, imposing, with a presence that seemed to command the very air around him, your brother was unlike anyone you had ever seen. His hair, stark white like the snow that capped the mountains, caught the light of the setting sun.

But it was his eyes that struck you most—eyes as clear and bright as the sky itself, filled with a depth that seemed to see through you, to the very core of your being. Just like your own. You had never found anyone that looked like you before. Somehow, you were not alone anymore.

For a moment, you stood frozen, uncertain how to greet him, this man who was both a stranger and your closest kin. But then he smiled, a smile that was warm and reassuring, and something in you eased.

"You’ve grown, little sister." Satoru said, his voice gentle, as though he feared to startle you. "I was worried I wouldn't recognize you. But I suppose….I suppose it would be normal, wouldn’t it? You and I have been apart long before you were born, little one.”

You found your voice, though it came out softer than you intended. "Brother…"

The word felt foreign on your tongue, a title you had never before spoken, but it also felt right, like a missing piece sliding into place. Satoru stepped closer, reaching out to place a hand on your shoulder. His touch was firm, but not unkind. 

"You will come and live with me now, hm?" he told you, his tone leaving no room for argument, but there was no harshness in it. Only certainty. “You will not be apart from me again.”

You nodded, the weight of your new reality settling over you. The life you had known, the only life you remembered, was ending. But this was your brother—your family—and though you did not know him, you knew that you owed him your loyalty, your respect.

"Yes, brother." you replied, lowering your gaze in deference.

Satoru squeezed your shoulder, his smile widening just a fraction. "Good. There’s much for us to do, but we’ll manage together, little sister.”

He turned, signaling to the men who had accompanied him, and they began to prepare for the journey. You looked back at the temple, at the nuns who had raised you, their faces serene yet tinged with sadness. They had known this day would come, had prepared you for it, but it was still a farewell, a parting of ways.

As you followed your brother, leaving the temple behind, you felt the weight of the future pressing upon you. You were no longer just the orphaned daughter raised by nuns. You were the sister of Gojo Satoru,  a daughter of the Gojo clan and that meant something in this world torn apart by war. 

And as you walked beside him, his presence a shield against the unknown, you felt a glimmer of hope that perhaps, in time, you would come to know this brother who had claimed you from the shadows of the temple.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

IT WAS A WHOLE NEW WORLD FOR YOU. But perhaps it was because you had not grown into the life that your brother had been consumed by for years. Yet you were not going to be left behind, that was a promise you made to yourself. You were going to catch up and serve your brother, as destiny had intended for you. 

It hadn’t taken long for you to prove your worth in the world your brother had thrust you into. From the moment you had joined Satoru's side, your intelligence shone like a beacon, drawing the attention of those who served him.

You were quick to grasp the intricacies of strategy, the delicate balance of politics, and the subtle art of diplomacy. Satoru, ever perceptive, saw in you the sharp mind that had been honed within the quiet confines of the temple, and he wasted no time in bringing you into his fold.

He did so without hesitation, without shame, despite the murmurs of discontent that rippled through his ranks. You were a woman in a man’s world, but Gojo Satoru was unbothered by such conventions. What mattered was that you were like him, a Gojo. And as such, you had the same power too. Perhaps it was why he trusted you more than anyone, and he made that trust clear by placing you at his side, seeking your counsel in matters great and small.

And so you sat with him, advising him openly in front of his men, your voice carrying the weight of his trust. You spoke with confidence, your mind as sharp as any blade, and Satoru listened, often nodding in agreement before issuing commands that bore your influence. It was a sight that unsettled some of his warriors—men hardened by battle, who found it difficult to reconcile the image of their fierce leader relying on the wisdom of a woman. 

But Satoru was adamant. “She is my sister, and I trust her above all.” he would say, and that was that. His word was law, and most of the men knew better than to question him. “Do not make light of my sister. A Gojo is a Gojo, regardless of sex. Do not dishonor me with your pitiful pride.”

However, the day came when your brother had to leave, called away by urgent matters elsewhere in the battlefield. He left you to lead his council in his absence, placing upon your shoulders a great responsibility. “They will listen to you, sister.” he assured you before he departed. “And if they don’t, remind them who you are.”

For a time, it seemed Satoru’s confidence in you was well-placed. You led the council with the same decisiveness and intelligence that had earned you your brother’s trust. Yet, despite your best efforts, there were those who could not look past your gender, who saw your presence at the head of the council as an affront to their honor.

The murmurs of discontent grew louder, the defiance more overt. They spoke over you, dismissed your ideas, and questioned your authority at every turn. It was subtle at first, but it quickly escalated into open disrespect. The council chamber, once a place where your voice had carried weight, became a battleground for your credibility.

You stood your ground, unyielding, but it became clear that your authority was being eroded with every passing day. The men who defied you believed that without your brother’s immediate presence, you could be undermined, your power stripped away.

It was during one of these tense council meetings, as the murmurs of dissent reached a fever pitch, that Geto Suguru intervened. Suguru, your brother’s general and most trusted right hand, had watched the unfolding situation with a quiet intensity.

He had always been a man of few words, but when he spoke, his voice commanded attention. That day, as you stood before a council of men who dared to challenge your authority, Suguru rose from his place, his expression one of stern resolve.

“Enough.”

The single word silenced the room, the weight of his presence alone enough to command respect. He stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the gathered men, who now shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny.

“This woman,” Suguru began, his voice calm but edged with steel, “is not just anyone. She is Gojo Satoru’s only sister, and she speaks with his voice. Any defiance of her is a defiance of Satoru himself. And if there is a man among you who believes he can dishonor her without consequence, then he dishonors Gojo Satoru. Such a man should commit seppuku to preserve Satoru’s goodwill with him.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the implications of Suguru’s words settling over the men like a shroud. You could see the way their expressions shifted, the bravado draining from their faces as the gravity of the situation became clear. To defy you now was not just to defy a woman—it was to defy the very man they served, the man who had led them through countless battles and brought them victories beyond measure.

Suguru’s eyes bore into each of them, leaving no room for doubt. “If there are any among you who wish to test this, step forward now.”

No one moved. The silence stretched on, thick with unspoken tension. Finally, one by one, the men lowered their heads, offering the respect they had withheld before. Suguru’s gaze softened as he turned to you, a subtle nod of reassurance in his eyes. You returned the nod, grateful for his intervention, knowing that his words had restored your authority where it had been threatened.

From that day forward, the council meetings proceeded with the respect you had earned, the respect that Suguru had demanded on your behalf. The men no longer questioned your place at the head of the table, for they knew that to do so was to challenge not just you, but Satoru himself.

And in those moments, as you continued to lead in your brother’s stead, you felt the strength of your bond with him, a bond forged not just by blood, but by the unwavering trust that had brought you to this place of power.

As the council meeting came to an end, the tension that had filled the chamber slowly dissipated. The men dispersed, their heads bowed in respect, a far cry from the defiance they had shown earlier. You remained seated, your hands resting on the table, the weight of the day’s events heavy on your shoulders.

Geto Suguru lingered behind, his presence a comforting anchor amidst the sea of uncertainty. He approached you quietly, his movements deliberate and calm, and as he drew closer, you found yourself exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

“Thank you, my lord.” you said softly, turning to face him. The gratitude in your voice was unmistakable. “Your words... they meant a great deal to me, my lord. I don’t know what I would have done without your support.”

Suguru met your gaze, his expression warm yet composed. “There’s no need to thank me, my lady.” he replied, his tone sincere. “What I did was nothing more than what was necessary. You are Satoru’s sister, and he is like a brother to me. By extension, you are family to me as well. I would do anything for the both of you.”

His words, so simply spoken yet filled with such conviction, touched something deep within you. The bond between Suguru and your brother was well known, but hearing him extend that sense of loyalty and kinship to you was both comforting and humbling. You had not had a true family before. The nuns were kind to you and treated you well. But they were not family. They never will be. BUt maybe, just maybe — Satoru and Suguru could be what family means to you. 

“Family…” you echoed, a small smile forming on your lips. “It’s strange to think how quickly that word has come to mean something so new and important in my life.”

Suguru nodded, his eyes holding a gentle understanding. “It’s a powerful thing, family. It binds us in ways that go beyond blood. And now, you’re part of that bond, just as much as anyone else.”

You looked at him, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. For a moment, there was a comfortable silence between you, the kind that only existed when words had already said enough.

A thought crossed your mind, and you spoke before you could second-guess yourself. “Suguru… would you like to share dinner with me before you leave?”

The invitation was simple, but it carried a significance that you hoped he would understand. In this world of shifting alliances and uncertain loyalties, there was something to be said for breaking bread together, for sharing a moment of peace in the midst of so much chaos.

Suguru’s smile widened just a fraction, a rare softness in his usually stoic demeanor. “I would like that very much, my lady.”

The two of you made your way to the dining hall, where a modest meal had been prepared. The setting was humble, far removed from the grand feasts that often accompanied council gatherings, but it was welcoming in its simplicity. The table was set with warm rice, grilled fish, and a selection of seasonal vegetables, along with a pot of fragrant tea.

You took your seats across from each other, and as the first course was served, the tension of the day seemed to melt away. The conversation flowed easily, a mix of light banter and deeper reflection. Suguru spoke of the campaigns he and Satoru had led, the victories and the losses, and you shared your experiences of life in the temple, the wisdom imparted to you by the nuns who had raised you.

As the evening wore on, you found yourself laughing at a story Suguru told about Satoru—how your brother, for all his prowess on the battlefield, had an unfortunate habit of getting lost in the most mundane of places. The image of the great warrior wandering aimlessly in a village square, confused and exasperated, was enough to bring tears of mirth to your eyes.

Suguru chuckled, his own laughter low and warm. “He’d kill me if he knew I told you that, my lady.” he said, shaking his head. “But it’s true. Satoru may be brilliant, but even he has his moments.”

“I’ll keep your secret, my lord.” you promised, still smiling. “It’s good to know he’s human, after all.”

Suguru’s gaze softened, and for a moment, he simply looked at you, his expression thoughtful. “You’re a lot like him, you know?” he said quietly. “Not just in the way you think, but in the way you carry yourself. Satoru may not say it often, but I know he’s proud of you. You’ve come into this world with such strength and grace. It’s no wonder he trusts you so completely.”

His words struck a chord within you, and you felt a swell of emotion that you hadn’t expected. To be compared to your brother, to hear that he was proud of you… it meant more than you could put into words.

“Thank you, my lord Suguru.” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “That means a great deal to me.”

He nodded, and the two of you fell into a companionable silence, content to simply enjoy each other’s presence. The meal continued, and as the last of the dishes were cleared away, you felt a sense of calm settle over you—a feeling that, despite the challenges you faced, you were not alone.

When the evening finally drew to a close, Suguru stood, bowing his head slightly in a gesture of respect. “I should be on my way, my lady.” he said, though there was no rush in his voice. “But I want you to know, if you ever need anything, you can always call on me.”

“I will.” you replied, rising to see him off. “And thank you again, my lord Suguru. For everything.”

He smiled, a small, genuine smile that seemed to light up his features. “Take care, my lady. And remember—family sticks together.”

With that, he turned and made his way out into the night, leaving you with a sense of warmth and a newfound understanding of the ties that bound you to those around you. And you think to yourself that you wanted it to last for the rest of your lives.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

YOU THINK SATORU HAD LEFT SUGURU FOR YOU TO HAVE A FRIEND. Many days and weeks pushed on, but Geto Suguru made it a point to stay by your side.You think that Satoru was smart with such a thing, keeping his trusted sister and friend together. So far, it had worked like a wonder, keeping all the men in line. 

And Suguru had been gallant, in trying to appear for each and every session of the council. He knew all too well that in a world dominated by men, your authority could easily be questioned in Satoru’s absence, and he wasn’t about to let that happen.

With Suguru’s steady presence, the council meetings continued to run smoothly, the men now fully aware that any disrespect towards you would not be tolerated. His mere presence was enough to quell any lingering doubts or challenges, and in time, the council began to accept your leadership with the same respect they afforded Satoru. 

But it wasn’t just in the council chambers where Suguru’s support made a difference. Beyond the formalities of the politicking in the clan hierarchy, Geto Suguru became your intellectual companion, someone with whom you could share ideas freely. He did not once mock you for your interest in many things, in fact — he encouraged it, with every meeting, with every conversation, he indulged your wants.

The two of you spent countless hours long after council was over, engrossed in discussions that ranged from the teachings of the Buddha to the intricacies of clan politics.

Suguru had a way of making even the most complex topics seem approachable, and you relished every moment spent with him, whether it was delving into the nuances of the emperor’s court, debating the merits of various poems, or considering new ideas for education reform. His intellect challenged you, and you found yourself growing in ways you hadn’t expected.

One evening, as the council hall emptied and the candles flickered in the growing darkness, you lingered in your seat, knowing that Suguru would join you soon. When he did, he settled beside you with a thoughtful expression, his eyes filled with the calm intensity that had become so familiar to you.

"You’ve been quiet today." he remarked, his voice low and steady. "Is something on your mind?"

You glanced at him, feeling the weight of your thoughts but unsure how to express them. "I’ve been thinking about the future," you admitted. "About what happens after the war… after everything settles."

Suguru nodded, understanding your unspoken concerns. "It’s natural to wonder. But the future is not something we can control, only prepare for. And you’ve done more than anyone to prepare our clan for what’s to come."

His words were reassuring, but they didn’t dispel the unease that had settled in your heart. "I just… sometimes I wonder if all these preparations, all these plans, will truly lead to peace. Or if we’re simply paving the way for another conflict."

Suguru considered your words for a moment before replying. "Peace is always fragile. It requires constant vigilance and wisdom. But I believe that with the right leadership—your brother, and perhaps even you—peace can be more than just a fleeting moment. It can be a legacy."

His faith in you was unwavering, and it touched you deeply. "I hope you’re right," you said softly, your gaze dropping to the parchment on the table before you. "But sometimes, I feel like I’m just grasping at straws, trying to make sense of a world that’s constantly changing."

Suguru reached out, gently lifting your chin so that your eyes met his. "You’re doing more than that. You’re shaping that world, guiding it towards something better. And you’re not alone in this. I’m here, and I’ll continue to be here, to support you in any way I can."

His words sent a warmth through you, one that made your heart ache in the most bittersweet way. "Thank you, Suguru," you whispered. "For everything."

A small smile curved his lips, and he withdrew his hand, though his presence remained as steady as ever. "There’s nothing to thank me for. This is what I want to do, for you and for Satoru."

As the night deepened, your conversations continued, flowing from one topic to another with ease. And when Suguru was away, he would always write to you, his letters filled with the same thoughtful insights and challenges. Each letter pushed your boundaries, urging you to think more deeply, to see the world through different lenses.

One day, as you read through one of his letters, you found a passage that made you pause:

"The world is vast, and our understanding of it is limited by the walls we build around ourselves. But if we can break down those walls, if we can push beyond what we think we know, then perhaps we can find something truly extraordinary. It is you whose intelligence I hold dearest and in truth, the person who can do things that would change the world.”

You traced the words with your fingers, feeling the weight of them settle in your chest. Suguru’s challenges were never just intellectual exercises; they were a call to action, a reminder that the world was still full of possibilities, and that you had the power to shape it.

And so, you wrote back, your reply filled with your own questions, your own thoughts, eager to see how he would respond. The correspondence between you became a lifeline, a connection that sustained you both through the trials and tribulations of the war.

Suguru had always been a thoughtful man, deeply reflective and wise beyond his years. His understanding of the world was shaped by both his experiences on the battlefield and his deep respect for philosophical teachings. You found his insights fascinating, often finding yourself lost in the depth of your conversations, which ranged from the practical to the profound.

During those moments, Suguru couldn’t help but notice the way your eyes lit up when you spoke of something you were passionate about, the gentle curve of your smile when you made a point that resonated with him. He had always thought you were beautiful—anyone could see that—but it was your tenacity, your intelligence, and your gentleness that truly captivated him. 

You were unlike anyone he had ever met. In you, he saw a rare combination of strength and compassion, a mind that was as sharp as any blade and a heart that was kind and forgiving.

The way you navigated the complexities of your new life, balancing the demands of leadership with the grace and wisdom you had learned at the temple, left him in awe.

Yet, despite the growing admiration he felt for you, Suguru kept those feelings buried deep within. To him, you were someone beyond reach, not because of any external barriers but because of his own sense of unworthiness.

He was a warrior, a man forged in battle and bloodshed, while you were a beacon of light, someone who had been touched by the serenity of the Buddha’s teachings. In his mind, the distance between who you were and who he was could never be bridged.

There were moments when he caught himself lost in thought, watching you as you spoke with that quiet authority, your words shaping the course of decisions that would impact the lives of many.

In those moments, a part of him longed to reach out, to tell you how much he admired you, how much he cared. But he never did. He couldn’t. To him, you deserved someone who was your equal, someone who could match your intellect and your spirit in ways he believed he could never hope to.

So, he stayed by your side, offering his loyalty and his companionship, content to be whatever you needed him to be. He ensured that no one dared to disrespect you, not just because of his loyalty to your brother, but because of the deep respect he had for you as an individual. He became a constant presence in your life, a steady rock in a world that often seemed to shift beneath your feet.

And while you might have seen him as a trusted ally and friend, for Suguru, every moment spent in your company was a reminder of what he could never allow himself to hope for.

You were, in his eyes, someone too precious, too good for a man like him. And so he kept his feelings hidden, choosing instead to honor you in the only way he knew how—by standing by your side, protecting you, and cherishing every conversation, every shared idea, every moment of quiet companionship.

In this way, Suguru made himself an indispensable part of your life, not realizing that his quiet devotion, his unwavering support, and the way he truly saw you for who you were had already made him far more worthy than he could ever imagine.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

YOU WERE GLAD TO KNOW THAT SATORU WAS COMING HOME. The day your brother, Satoru, returned from the front was filled with anticipation. The courtyard was alive with the excited murmurs of those gathered to welcome him home, the air thick with the scent of incense and the rustle of fine silks as the crowd shifted in expectation. Your heartbeat a little faster, not just from the prospect of seeing your brother again, but from the knowledge that he would be pleased with the work you had done in his absence.

As Satoru arrived, tall and imposing in his armor, the crowd parted to allow him passage. His white hair gleamed in the sunlight, and despite the long months of battle, his step was as sure and confident as ever. His gaze swept over the gathered people, but it was your face he sought first. When his eyes found yours, a smile broke across his face, and he quickened his pace to reach you.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into a warm embrace, his laughter rich with relief and pride. "Dearest sister!" he greeted, his voice filled with affection, "I’m home."

You returned his embrace, feeling a wave of emotion at having him back safely. “Welcome home, brother!” you replied, your voice steady, though your heart swelled with joy. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

He pulled back to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “Thank you,” he said earnestly, “for all your hard work on my behalf. I knew I could trust you to lead in my stead, and you’ve done more than I could have ever asked.”

The warmth in his words settled deep within you, a validation of all that you had done in his absence. “I did only what was necessary.” you replied, though the gratitude in your voice was clear.

Satoru turned then, his gaze shifting to Suguru, who stood a respectful distance away. The moment their eyes met, Satoru’s expression softened further, a familiar tenderness evident between the two men.

“Suguru!” Satoru called out, beckoning him forward.

Suguru approached, bowing his head in respect before speaking. “Welcome home, Satoru. I’m glad to see you returned safely.”

Satoru’s smile broadened, and he clasped Suguru’s shoulder in a gesture of deep friendship. “Thank you, Suguru, for being a confidant to my sister during this time. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to know she wasn’t alone.”

Suguru shook his head, his expression as composed as ever. “It is nothing but a great duty to fulfill for my vassal lord and friend,” he said, his tone formal and deferential.

But Satoru frowned at that, his grip on Suguru’s shoulder tightening slightly. “Don’t be so formal with me, Suguru,” he chided, though his tone was light. “You know better than that. You’re more than just a vassal. You’re my brother in arms, my friend. And you’ve done more for me and my sister than I could ever repay.”

Suguru’s gaze flickered with something unreadable, but he quickly schooled his expression. “I appreciate your words, Satoru.” he replied quietly. “But my duty calls me back to the front. I must return soon.”

Satoru’s frown deepened, and he shook his head, refusing to let go of Suguru’s shoulder. “No, I won’t hear of it!” he insisted. “You’ve been at the front longer than anyone. You need rest, and I won’t have you running off the moment you’ve set foot here. Stay as long as you can. That’s an order.”

Suguru hesitated, clearly torn between his sense of duty and his loyalty to Satoru. But seeing the determination in your brother’s eyes, he finally nodded. “If that is your order, Satoru, then I will stay.”

“Good.” Satoru said, his tone firm but kind. “That’s settled then. You’ll stay here with us, and you’ll take the time you need to rest and recover. The front will still be there when you’re ready to return.”

As Suguru accepted the command, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Having Suguru stay, even for a little longer, was something you hadn’t realized you’d wanted until now. He had become an important part of your life in your brother’s absence, and the thought of him leaving so soon after Satoru’s return had left you with an unexpected emptiness.

Satoru, ever perceptive, caught the fleeting look on your face and smiled knowingly. “You see, sister?” he said, turning to you. “I’ve managed to keep our dear Suguru here for a little longer. We all need him here, not just on the battlefield.”

You smiled, grateful for Satoru’s understanding, and nodded. “Yes, we do. Thank you, brother.”

With the matter settled, the three of you made your way into the inner chambers, where preparations had been made for a private celebration of Satoru’s return. The atmosphere was light, filled with laughter and the shared relief of being together once more. As you sat together, the bonds of family and friendship felt stronger than ever, and for that moment, the weight of the world outside seemed to fade away.

As the weeks passed, you found yourself spending more and more time with Suguru. The bond between you deepened, the trust and respect that had grown in your brother's absence now blossoming into something more complex, something that you couldn’t quite name but felt deeply. Suguru was older, wiser, and had seen so much more of the world than you had, but there was a connection between you that transcended those differences. Slowly but surely, you realized that you were becoming enthralled by your feelings for him.

Despite the age difference, despite his steadfast focus on his career and his role as your brother’s most trusted general, you couldn’t help the way your heart quickened when you were near him. Suguru, ever the composed and duty-bound man, never gave any indication that he was aware of your feelings. He was kind, respectful, and treated you as an equal in your discussions, but there was always a certain distance, a formality that he maintained, even in the quiet moments you shared.

One evening, after the council had ended and the palace had settled into the calm of the night, you found yourself wandering through the lily gardens with Suguru. The moon was full, casting a soft, silvery light over the still waters of the pond and the delicate white lilies that floated on its surface.

The air was cool, a gentle breeze stirring the leaves of the nearby trees. It was a serene, almost otherworldly setting, perfect for the conversations you often found yourselves having under the cover of darkness.

As you walked side by side, your footsteps soft on the stone path, you spoke of the future. Of what might come after the war, when the battles were over, and the land was finally at peace. You talked of the things you wanted to do—small, simple things like traveling to the nearby villages, visiting the temples you had only heard of in stories, and seeing the world beyond the palace walls.

Suguru listened, his expression thoughtful as always, but there was a trace of something in his eyes that made your heart ache—a longing that mirrored your own, though he would never voice it.

But tonight, there was something more pressing on your mind, something that had been weighing on you ever since your brother had returned from the front. After a pause in your conversation, you gathered your courage and spoke, your voice soft yet firm. “Suguru… Satoru has begun to find a husband for me.”

Suguru stopped walking, turning to face you. His expression didn’t change, but you saw the subtle tension in his posture, the way his hands clenched slightly at his sides. “It’s what’s best, my lady.” he replied after a moment, his tone carefully neutral. “A marriage to form alliances would strengthen your brother’s position and secure your future.”

You shook your head, the words catching in your throat. “I don’t see it that way,” you admitted, your voice trembling with the emotions you could no longer contain. “Because… I’ve fallen in love with you, Suguru.”

For a moment, there was silence. The world around you seemed to still, the only sound the gentle rustling of the lilies in the breeze. Suguru’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, perhaps, or maybe something deeper, something he had kept hidden for a long time.

“You shouldn’t love me.” he finally said, his voice low, almost pained. “It’s unequal. I would taint your name, your reputation. You’re much younger than me, and you deserve someone who can offer you the future you deserve. I can’t… I’m not looking to marry, not now. I have my duties, my career—”

“I don’t care about any of that.” you interrupted, your voice firmer now, driven by the strength of your feelings. “I don’t care about reputation or duty. I only care about you, about what we could have together. I want you to be with me, Suguru. Not as my brother’s general, but as the man I love.”

Suguru looked at you then, really looked at you, as if seeing you for the first time. There was a deep conflict in his eyes, a battle between his sense of duty and the emotions he had tried so hard to suppress. He took a step closer, and for a moment, you thought he might reach out to you, might take your hand or pull you into his arms. But he stopped himself, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

“I’m not worthy of you, my lady.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just a soldier, a man who has done terrible things in the name of duty. You deserve someone who can give you the life you’ve dreamed of, someone who can stand beside you in the light, not someone who is forever tainted by the darkness of war.”

Your heart ached at his words, at the pain you could hear beneath them. But you refused to accept them. “I don’t want someone else.” you said, taking a step closer to him, closing the distance between you. “I want you, Suguru. I don’t care about the past or what you think you deserve. I know who you are, and I love you for it. Please… don’t push me away.”

Suguru’s resolve seemed to falter then, his purple eyes closing as if trying to block out the reality of your words. He was silent for a long moment, the only sound the distant chirping of crickets and the soft rustle of the wind in the trees. When he finally spoke, his voice was raw with emotion. “I don’t want to hurt you, my lady.” he said, opening his eyes to meet yours. “But I’m afraid I already have.”

You shook your head, tears gathering in your eyes. “You haven’t, my lord.” you insisted. “But you will if you walk away from me now.”

Suguru looked at you, his expression filled with a sorrow that you hadn’t seen before. He took a deep breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, resigned. “If I stay, if I allow myself to feel this way about you, it won’t be easy. There will be challenges, people who will try to tear us apart. Your brother might not even approve…”

“I don’t care, my lord….Suguru.” you said, stepping even closer, so that you were only a breath away from him. “I’ll face whatever comes if it means being with you.”

Suguru looked at you for a long moment, his purple eyes searching for yours, as if trying to find the strength to say what he needed to say. Finally, he reached out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch was hesitant, as if he was afraid to break you, but you leaned into it, closing your eyes as you felt the warmth of his skin against yours.

“I wish I could be the man you deserve.” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet despair. “But if you’re willing to take this risk, then I won’t let you face it alone.”

You opened your eyes, looking up at him with a mix of relief and determination. “I am willing, Suguru.” you said softly, your heart full of the love you had for him. “As long as you’re by my side.”

Suguru nodded, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “Then I’ll stay, for you.” he said, his voice firm with resolve. “And I’ll do everything I can to protect you, to make this work… even if it means defying everything I thought I knew.”

With those words, you knew that the bond between you had changed, deepened in ways that neither of you could have anticipated. The future was uncertain, the challenges ahead daunting, but for now, in the quiet of the lily garden under the moonlit sky, you had each other. And that, you knew, was more than enough.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

THE MORE YOU WERE TOGETHER, THE MORE YOU FELL FOR HIM. And along with the flow of time, the boundaries between you blurred until they disappeared entirely. What began as stolen moments in the lily gardens turned into lingering touches, soft words whispered in the dark, and eventually, the first tentative kiss. That kiss led to another, and then another, until you both could no longer deny the passion that had ignited between you.

Geto Suguru, ever the restrained and disciplined man, tried to keep his distance, to maintain the boundaries that he believed were necessary. But you could see the way he struggled, the way his resolve weakened whenever you were near. And you, in turn, found yourself growing more insatiable for him, drawn to his quiet strength, his intellect, and the gentleness that he showed only to you.

It wasn’t long before your relationship became intimate. The nights you spent together were filled with whispered confessions, tender caresses, and the kind of closeness that left you breathless, yearning for more. Each touch, each shared moment, only deepened the bond between you, until it became something undeniable, something that you couldn’t hide, even if you tried.

Suguru’s movements were rhythmic and deliberate, each thrust a testament to the intensity of his feelings. Your body responded instinctively, shivering under the persistent wave of pleasure that seemed to emanate from every part of him. The connection between you both was palpable, a perfect union of touch and desire that left you breathless and yearning.

As he pressed closer, the heat between you became almost unbearable. You could feel every inch of him, his length moving with a purposeful glide that seemed to match the cadence of your own heartbeats. His focus was unwavering, his gaze locked onto your expressions of bliss, as if he were memorizing each fleeting moment of your shared ecstasy.

Suguru’s lips were gentle yet insistent, trailing a path of fiery kisses along your skin. He started at your jawline, moving down to your neck, where his kisses became more fervent, brushing against the sensitive spots that made you moan uncontrollably. His touch was a mix of tenderness and passion, each kiss a silent declaration of his love.

The way his lips traveled over your shoulder blades and collarbone, down to your breasts, was both reverent and adoring. He seemed to savor every inch of you, each kiss a testament to his longing and his desire to make you feel cherished and adored. His breathing grew ragged, his desire for you as evident as the ardent affection in his kisses.

Suguru’s love was consuming, a powerful force that seemed to envelope you both in a cocoon of heat and intimacy. His movements were a dance of devotion, each motion and kiss an expression of his deep-seated love. He wanted to give you everything, to love you with a passion that knew no bounds, until either of you could bear the intensity any longer.

Suguru’s senses were overwhelmed by the intense heat enveloping him. Each time he pulled back, he felt the burning warmth of your inner flesh clinging to him, a tantalizing reminder of the connection you shared. The contrast between the cool air and the searing heat of your body created a heightened sense of urgency, making every moment even more electric.

He withdrew momentarily, the emptiness only intensifying his need to be reunited with you. His breath came in ragged bursts, a mixture of frustration and desire fueling his movements. When he finally pressed back into you, it was with a force that spoke of his longing and the sheer intensity of his passion.

Suguru’s hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding and angling them to better meet his thrusts. His movements were decisive and powerful, each push and pull a testament to his deep-seated desire. The rhythm he established was relentless, his member driving into you with a raw, unrestrained energy. Every thrust was accompanied by a shudder of pleasure, both from him and you, as the heat between you built to a fervent crescendo.

His focus was entirely on you, the way your body responded to him, the way you felt around him. The sound of your moans and the look of sheer pleasure on your face drove him to new heights, his need to be with you, to feel this connection, only growing stronger with each passing second.

But as much as you tried to keep your relationship a secret from your brother, it wasn’t long before the truth could no longer be hidden. The realization came with a sudden, undeniable clarity: you were pregnant. 

The days following that intense night were filled with a mix of excitement and anticipation. As you navigated through your routine, you began to notice subtle changes in your body. What started as a vague sense of nausea and fatigue soon became more pronounced, prompting you to a conclusion.

The morning understood what was going on, a whirlwind of emotions took over you. You stared at yourself and then your belly, your heart pounding in your chest. Fear and excitement warred within you as you grappled with the reality of your situation.

You were carrying Suguru’s child, a life born from the love that you shared, but also a secret that could change everything. You knew that your brother, Satoru, would not take the news lightly. He had always been protective of you, and this… this would be seen as a betrayal.

The day your brother discovered the truth was etched into your memory with vivid, painful clarity. You had dreaded this moment, knowing that the inevitable confrontation would come, but nothing could have fully prepared you for the storm that followed.

The atmosphere was thick with tension as you stood in the living room, your heart racing. Satoru stormed in, his eyes blazing with a mix of fury and hurt that made your stomach churn. His usually calm demeanor was shattered, replaced by an intensity that you had never seen before. He had sensed something was wrong for weeks, and the truth had hit him like a sledgehammer.

“Who is he?” Satoru’s voice was a harsh whisper, laced with a barely contained rage. His eyes locked onto you, his gaze piercing through you as if trying to unravel the truth hidden within your silence.

"Brother, please...."

“Who’s the father?” His demand echoed through the room, each word sharp and accusatory, slicing through the fragile veneer of your composure.

The weight of his anger was suffocating. You stood there, feeling small and vulnerable, your hands trembling at your sides. The emotional turmoil inside you was overwhelming, a tangled mess of guilt, fear, and sorrow. You wanted to explain, to find the right words to make him understand, but the sheer intensity of the moment left you paralyzed.

Suguru, who had been silently supporting you, stepped forward, his own face a mask of regret and determination. He had been waiting for this confrontation, knowing that it was his responsibility to face the consequences of their actions. With a deep breath, he took the weight of the situation onto his shoulders. 

“Satoru,” he began, his voice steady but tinged with a sorrowful undertone, “I’m the father.”

The revelation hung in the air, heavy and oppressive. Satoru’s expression shifted from anger to disbelief, and then to a deeper pain that seemed to cut through his very core. The anger that had once burned so fiercely now gave way to a profound sense of betrayal and heartbreak. His eyes, usually so full of warmth and understanding, were now clouded with tears that he fought to hold back.

Suguru’s admission was met with a silence that was almost unbearable. The tension in the room was palpable, each of you waiting for the other to break the silence. You could see the struggle in Satoru’s face as he tried to process the reality of the situation, the hurt and confusion evident in every line of his expression.

“I never thought...” Satoru’s voice faltered, his anger giving way to a raw, aching sadness. He looked between you and Suguru, his emotions a turbulent sea of conflicting feelings. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why keep this from me?”

Suguru’s gaze was steady, but his heart was breaking as he met Satoru’s eyes. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Satoru.” he said softly. “But I know that’s no excuse. I’m sorry.”

“You do not have to worry.” Suguru said, his voice steady despite the tension in the air. He met Satoru’s gaze head-on, not flinching even as the anger in your brother’s eyes intensified. “It was not planned….But I take full responsibility, Satoru. Please.”

Satoru’s reaction was immediate and explosive. “You’re supposed to be my most trusted general, my friend, and you… you’ve done this? With my sister? And you didn’t marry her?”

Suguru’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “I never intended to disrespect you or your family. I care for her deeply, and I will do what is right.”

The words only seemed to fuel Satoru’s rage. “You should have done what was right from the start! How could you let this happen, Suguru? How could you—”

“I didn’t need to marry him.” you interrupted, your voice shaking as you tried to step between them, to defuse the situation before it spiraled out of control. “I love him, Satoru. We love each other, and I don’t need a marriage to prove that.”

But your words only seemed to make things worse. Satoru turned to you, his expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. “You don’t understand what this means, how it looks. If you’re with child and not married, it could ruin everything. Our alliances, our reputation—everything we’ve fought for…..”

Suguru placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding you even as the storm of emotions swirled around you. “I will marry her, Satoru.” he said firmly, his voice calm but resolute. “You don’t have to worry about shame. We will marry and no one will know.”

Satoru stared at Suguru for a long moment, his chest rising and falling with the force of his emotions. It was clear that he was torn, caught between his duty to his family and his loyalty to Suguru. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair.

“I have no other choice about this.” he said, his voice heavy with resignation. “If you’re going to marry her, then you need to do it soon. We’ll make the arrangements, and you’ll stand before everyone and make this right.”

Suguru nodded, his grip on your shoulder tightening slightly as if to reassure you. “I will. You have my word.”

You looked up at Suguru, your heart full of a mixture of love, relief, and anxiety for what lay ahead. This wasn’t how you had imagined things would unfold, but you knew that as long as you had him by your side, you could face whatever challenges came your way. And so, with a heavy but hopeful heart, you took a deep breath and prepared to face the future together.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

YOU NEVER EXPECTED ALL OF THIS, BUT LIFE IS STRANGE. And perhaps you were now more resigned to it than ever before. The day of your wedding to Suguru was both solemn and beautiful, a ceremony that cemented not only your love but also your shared commitment to the future.

Despite the circumstances that led to it, the vows you exchanged were heartfelt, and as you stood beside him, you felt a deep sense of belonging, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

Suguru remained by your side through the remainder of your pregnancy, refusing to leave even as the war called to him. He was there for every moment, every kick, and every anxious night as you awaited the arrival of your children. When the day finally came, and you bore twin daughters, his joy was immeasurable. He held you close, kissed your forehead, and whispered his gratitude for the family you had given him.

The day Suguru had to return to the battlefield was a poignant reminder of the harsh realities that overshadowed your time together. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the room, the reality of his departure loomed heavily over both of you. The weight of impending separation was unbearable, each moment stretching painfully as the hour of his departure drew nearer.

You found yourself clinging to him, your grip firm yet trembling, as tears streamed down your cheeks. Every part of you ached with the fear and sadness of watching him leave for another dangerous mission. His presence had become your sanctuary, and the thought of him stepping back into the chaos of war was almost too much to bear. Your sobs were muffled against his chest, the fabric of his uniform a stark reminder of the danger he faced.

Suguru’s hands were gentle as he reached up to wipe away your tears. His touch was tender, yet firm, as if he were trying to transfer some of his strength to you. His own eyes were filled with a sorrowful resolve, the weight of the duty he was about to undertake clear in every line of his face. Despite his bravery and determination, it was evident that leaving you behind was a painful sacrifice.

As he held you, his gaze shifted to the cot where your daughters, Mimiko and Nanako, slept peacefully. Their innocent faces were serene, their small bodies rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep. Suguru’s heart ached at the sight of them, his love for them and the desire to protect them a palpable force. His eyes lingered on them, a silent vow passing between him and their slumbering forms—a promise to return safely, to be there for them and you.

"I don’t want to leave you." he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he held you close, feeling the warmth of your daughters swaddled in his arms. “All three of you.”

"I know that." you whispered back, your voice breaking. "But you must. For Satoru, for our peace… But promise me, Suguru, that you'll take care of my brother. Bring him back to us. And…And come back to us too. Please."

"I promise, my love." he vowed, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "I will protect him with my life, just as I will protect our family. I will come back to you, I swear."

The parting was an agonizing ordeal, each moment stretching into an eternity as you watched Suguru ride away. With your daughters, Mimiko and Nanako, nestled in your arms, you felt the weight of the world press heavily upon your heart. The sight of him disappearing into the distance, framed by the setting sun, was a poignant reminder of the uncertainty that lay ahead. As the last glimpse of him vanished, you could only hold your children tighter, whispering prayers for his safety and for a swift end to the unrelenting war.

Days turned into months, and months into years, each passing moment a relentless reminder of the ongoing conflict. The once-familiar rhythm of life had been disrupted, replaced by an enduring wait for peace. The world outside was fraught with turmoil, but within the sanctuary of the temple where your journey with Suguru had begun, you found a semblance of tranquility.

Returning to the temple was a return to roots, a place of peace amidst the chaos of the world. It was where you had first found solace and a sense of purpose alongside Suguru, and now it became a refuge for you and your daughters. The temple's serene environment provided a safe haven where you could nurture them, shielding them from the harsh realities of the outside world. 

Every corner of the temple held echoes of the past—memories of quiet moments shared with Suguru, of dreams and plans woven together in the tranquil surroundings. It was a place that had once symbolized new beginnings, and now it served as a testament to endurance and hope.

As you raised your daughters in this sanctuary, you immersed yourself in the rhythms of temple life, finding comfort in its routines and in the community that embraced you. You taught them the values and lessons that had been so important to you and Suguru, hoping to instill in them the same strength and resilience that had guided you through these challenging years.

The temple, with its tranquil gardens and reverent halls, became a living monument to your waiting, a symbol of the enduring love that bound you to Suguru. Every day was a step closer to the dream of seeing the land united and your husband safely returned to you. Until that day came, you held onto the hope that peace would prevail and that your family would be whole once more.

In the stillness of the temple, surrounded by the quiet hum of prayer and the gentle presence of your daughters, you found a sense of purpose and patience. Your love for Suguru remained a guiding light, illuminating the path through the darkness of uncertainty and keeping the promise of reunion alive in your heart.

Years passed, and news of the Gojo clan's victory spread across the land and peace was finally achieved. The land was finally unified, and the long years of war had come to an end. You clung to the hope that with this victory, Your Suguru would return to you, that the promise he made would finally be fulfilled.

And then, one day, as you stood at the steps of the temple, you saw him. Geto Suguru, looking weary yet strong, with the weight of years and battle etched into his features. He stood there, gazing at you with eyes full of longing and love, and you felt your heart leap in your chest.

Without hesitation, you ran to him, your daughters' voices calling after you, but you couldn’t stop. The world seemed to blur around you as you crossed the distance between you and the man you had been waiting for all these years. When you finally reached him, you threw yourself into his arms, holding him as tightly as you could, as if to make up for all the time you had spent apart.

"Welcome home, my love." you whispered, your voice thick with tears, your face buried in his chest. The scent of him, the feel of his arms around you, it was all so familiar, so comforting, that it felt like a dream.

Suguru held you close, his embrace fierce and full of the love he had carried with him through every battle, every hardship. "I’m home, my dear." he murmured into your hair, his voice choking with emotion. "I’m finally home."

Your daughters, now old enough to understand the significance of the moment, stood a little ways off, watching with wide eyes as their father returned to them. You turned to them, beckoning them forward, and they ran to join the embrace, their laughter and tears mingling with your own.

[kabr0ztrousers]

Just read episode 51 and that was hot as hell. Especially the way she fucked herself on his cock and ground that flare into her cervix to stop him going soft and his cum leaking out of her.

Thank you so much!

Would love to see something where she ends up being strapped to him again as a breeding bitch for him or other centaurs, and eventually with her pregnant belly hanging down too.

Kabr0z Writes Episode 81: Alternative ending

This story won't make sense if you haven't read episode 51!

And here's the rest of the anthology!

CWs: Noncon; kidnap; forced impregnation; freeuse; belly riding; Lots of the same issues as the first iteration. Please look that one over, if it's too heavy this one will be too

A/N: Think of this as a "What If..?" for episode 51. I'm not sure which will wind up being canon if I agglomerate a universe around this, but it doesn't really matter either way

#######################################

You solicited the help of a centaur to escape a city. It was a desperate gambit, strapped to the underside of a half-horse half-man to slip by the gatehouse through the one un-warded route out.

He never met back up with his partner, diverting South into the woodlands. He ran for miles with you suspended under him, his gargantuan cock softening and slipping out of you within minutes of leaving the city walls. A trail of cum leaked from you as you struggled under his belly. The knots were tight, the ropes stout. Every move you made only served to bind you tighter.

Eventually he stopped running, alighting on a stand of dark oak trees, sheets strung from tree to tree making up awnings. His home. He never bothered to remove you.

Day after day, he'd take you. Every time would start the same, that cock would start dangling below you. You were helpless to do anything but watch as it slid out to its full length, dangling below the centaur's knees. He'd let it hang there a moment, steaming in the cold winter air.

Slowly, it would harden. Thickening from the base downwards. Swinging up towards you over and over, slapping against your belly. Every swing hit your cunt, slinging a thread of sticky precum at you as it slapped your flesh. Over and over it would swing, the flared tip engorging with each stroke. Sometimes he's get too stimulated from just slapping his cock against you and a gout of cum would erupt from him, covering you and dripping onto the dirt floor.

Today was not one of those days. Today he wouldn't be satisfied with anything but your cunt. You felt him grab the ropes, leaning back to haul you towards his front legs so when the pendulous cock swung up the tip threatened your hole, slicking it with precum. He stepped up to a fallen log, bracing you against it as he swung into you again, pushing the flare into you. You were well-used to the thickness of it by now. That didn't stop it making you gasp as you felt it wedge you open. It wasn't as hard as the actual shaft of his cock, but it was as thick as both of your fists held together. Firm, with just enough give to avoid doing serious harm to you, the flare held him into you. He thrust. The weight of his body pressing you down into the rough bark of the log. The cock forced itself deeper into you. You stifled a sob as it bottomed out on your cervix, then pushed harder, sliding past and into the fornix. Here he rested a moment. The flare pressing into the very back wall of your pussy.

You tried to catch your breath, feeling the cock stretching you, pressing into your guts. The centaur shuddered slightly, the wobbling motion shaking him inside you. You whined as the cock shook you to the core. He grunted, seemingly taking your noise as a challenge as he pressed you back against the log, bracing your chest into it as he thrust in harder, forcing you back down towards his hips. You felt him stretching you, pushing the limits of your depth.

You felt his sheath. The very base of his cock. He started galloping. The movement shook you, rubbing his member against your insides. Faster and faster he ran, leaping boughs and streams until he stopped.

With a howl, he came. You felt it, the familiar pressure of the cum flooding you. You could feel yourself bloating. The force of the cum fought the still almost-hard cock occupying your quim. He flopped out of you, the cock still standing strong as it pointed instead at your dangling face. A rope hit you, painting you in the strong smelling seminal fluids of your kidnapper. He wasn't done yet. More came, painting your belly, then still more, squirting onto the ground before the dripping mass of cockmeat started to recede back into him.

Weeks passed, every day bringing more attempts to flood you with his seed, some more successful than others. One day you could deny it no more, your belly was growing. He didn't feed you enough to grow fat, even with your now sedantary lifestyle. There was only one explanation.

#######################################

One of these days, I'll get the drop on these things. Until then, I'm gonna be pulling more late nights.

Semi-unrelated, if you're in the UK and have £10 to spare, you can get a subscription to the National Theatre's streaming service. It's pretty good

[duyuforu]

Pick-a-Card: What is Next for you in Life?

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Pile 1 - ₊˚⊹♡

Don't forget that it's a general reading so take what resonates. If you don't resonate with this pile, you can choose another one. If you don't resonate with any of the piles, it just means there is no messages for you today. Don't take informations you are not comfortable with, and take care of yourself.

Pile 1, welcome to your reading! What is next for you in your life? I can see that perhaps what is next is related to your relationships in general. There could have been something related to a contract, such as you perhaps having a contract right now, for example work, it could have been long term and stable but there could be some instability, obstacles or hardships related to it. Could also be a relationship, a commitment. You could find a hard time to know what to do. Cards are saying you'll have the answer through a dream, or you could have the answer in a more mystical way. You could have a solution, or help from the universe or God, but dreams is a strong theme here. For a lot of you, you could also have a major event related to romance soon in your life. Perhaps you'll have a new friend coming in your life, or you'll have a very good thing happening in your friendships. But this could also be related to love. You could have better days in your love life soon, and if you are single and searching for someone (searching as for example, wanting to date someone), you could have a good opportunity. You could meet a potential long term partner, someone serious, perhaps a soulmate. This could have been something you were manifesting for some time now.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to like (even comment your pile if you want) and follow for more content ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

If you desire a more personal and in-depth reading, you can book a private tarot reading with me.

Pile 2 - ₊˚⊹♡

Don't forget that it's a general reading so take what resonates. If you don't resonate with this pile, you can choose another one. If you don't resonate with any of the piles, it just means there is no messages for you today. Don't take informations you are not comfortable with, and take care of yourself.

Pile 2, welcome to your reading! If you were also drawn to Pile 1, you should go check it out, I see a very similar message here. As for what is next for you in life, there could have been a financial association you had before that failed, or somehow you could have tried to talk about a contract or a relationship and it failed. If it's work related, it could be you wanting to have a raise and it was denied, or if it's about a relationship, you perhaps wanted to go next level with someone and got rejected. I see a rejection in the end, so take what resonates. Even if this event isn't from the past, but will happen in the future, cards want you to know that you shouldn't loose hope. If you want a raise and it was denied, do not think this is the end, you can still try again later. If you wanted to go next level with someone but this person wasn't sure, perhaps later things will be better. It can also be en encouraging message as, if you didn't have this, then another opportunity will open itself to you. You should def keep going, success in at the end of the path. You could review also your relationships with people around you, and seeing who you think is doing you good and who is more pushing you down. Also, when it comes to romance, you could have been worried about a connection or your love life, perhaps not seeing any good outcome. A love connection could have ended, or is about to end, or at least you thought it was the end. You could get a message, text, letter, any kind of news from this person soon. They could wanna talk, meet, their energy is pretty soft and calm, they really want to see you or talk to you again.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to like (even comment your pile if you want) and follow for more content ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

If you desire a more personal and in-depth reading, you can book a private tarot reading with me.

Pile 3 - ₊˚⊹♡

Don't forget that it's a general reading so take what resonates. If you don't resonate with this pile, you can choose another one. If you don't resonate with any of the piles, it just means there is no messages for you today. Don't take informations you are not comfortable with, and take care of yourself.

Pile 3, welcome to your reading! What is next for you in life could be about your manifestations. You could have tried to manifest something recently and cards could want to say that whatever you tried to indeed manifest into reality will come to live soon. You could feel like something secretive also will come to light, you could learn someone's truth soon. There is a man there, or someone with a strong masculine energy. Your manifestations could have been related to romance, and perhaps you wanted to manifest your soulmate, future spouse, or a new romantic partner, etc. You could so see this manifestation come to you in March. Someone could indeed come to you, or you could dream of them. You could see someone who will want to ask you out, date you, wanting to be with you romantically. This person has some Water & Air energies in them. This could be someone from the past, but not necessarily. Cards could also say that if you indeed want to manifest a good partner for you, you should def continue, not give up, and be persistent with your manifestations. This person is coming but even if they are there, continue putting your manifestations there, meditate, do not loose the thread of your hard work. Moreover, another little message here is that there could be some steamy times for you soon, perhaps either online, or texting in a very hot way, or calling, take what resonates iykyk... lol.

Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed, and don't forget to like (even comment your pile if you want) and follow for more content ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

If you desire a more personal and in-depth reading, you can book a private tarot reading with me.

Thank you for Reading!

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[thesiltverses]

The horror of Eric Carle

Becoming a dad has really been a reminder of all the half-forgotten books that got me interested in horror: the ones that I will definitely share with my kid (The Minpins) and the ones that I probably won't (Not Now, Bernard)

And then there's Eric Carle, and now it's all coming flooding back - the very first time in my life that I experienced terror. Seriously, what the fuck is this?

Carle's most famous book, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, is in its own way uneasy and strange (the caterpillar's voracious and growing hunger is presented ambiguously both as an unavoidable and natural process of change and something greedy and grotesque; the caterpillar appears to devour its own place-of-birth and then feels good about it) but it flies under the radar by being very unCarle-like. The caterpillar is largely tiny and cute, we get plenty of colourful close-ups of tasty-looking food, and there are only two pages and a cover which feature Carle's favourite preoccupation: giant animals with irregular, scissor-cut eyes staring unhappily at the reader as they threaten to grow larger than the page itself.

I genuinely remember feeling deeply unnerved by Carle's first major piece of illustration work, Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?, written with Bill Martin Jr., but only now do I understand why. Holy shit, I have so many questions.

Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What do you see? I see a red bird looking at me.

Why is the rhyme-scheme so frantic and breathless, like it's being chanted out during an escalating ritual somewhere deep in the forests? Why are the animals - textured via collage as if half-carved from wood themselves - staring directly at us, the audience, before then revealing that they're actually looking behind us at something else which is staring back at them in turn? Why do so many of the animals look so fearful and haunted as they acknowledge the vast web of visibility which exists between them?

Why does the 'white dog' page - perhaps the only-genuinely-friendly-looking animal - briefly plunge us into night-time, creating the impression that these creatures are somehow watching each other across spans of time and space, when Carle is fully capable of just drawing an outline around the dog?

Why is the teacher's neck extending like a xenomorph's tongue as she glares with narrowed eyes down at the children (what horrible act have they caught her doing?) Why is the cover of follow-up Polar Bear, Polar Bear, What Do You Hear clearly depicting a Tuunbaq stalking the reader?

What seems remarkable and bizarre is that Carle, a talented artist, deliberately chooses to draw animals for infant readers which are neither cute nor charming but which consistently embody the internet joke about hares - feral wilderness prophets who've glimpsed the truth of the universe and gone mad - and has made a stunningly successful career out of doing so.

Carle's beasts know something terrible that they do not fully understand, and which they are incapable of sharing with us.

I'll avoid the crass temptation to draw serious biographical inferences here (Carle believed he had PTSD from an adolescence spent in Nazi Germany, and his works were inspired by his childhood walks with his father, who returned home psychologically shattered by his own experiences as a Soviet prisoner-of-war) and just say that there is something wonderful, awful and innocent in the fact that perhaps the most popular baby-book artist of all time, when asked to draw a goldfish, would respond with what is clearly a monstrous open-mouthed leviathan rising up from black depths to devour us all.

Look at this horrible fucking thing. It rocks.

[seafoamreadings]

neptune into aries!!!!!!!

you know i'm not the fearmongering kind, so believe me when i say that this Very Big News has both good and bad points. the end of an era begins, but the start of the new one overlaps with it and the coexist together for some time. specifically from now until the end of january, due to a retrograde bringing back into its home of pisces until it enters aries for good.

the kind of scary news: the last time this happened was the US civil war. as if we need more revolution/civil war/economic turmoil vibes. but there you go. i'm not saying history repeats itself, but mark twain was sure right about it rhyming.

neptune has a lot to do with illusions, delusions, manipulation, and confusion.

on the brighter side it is also dreams, glamor, unconditional love, oneness with the universe, and oceanic depth. some great things certainly came about as a result of the civil war too, and elsewhere in the world due to other events around that time.

neptune doesn't leave aries for taurus for over a decade, so start to get a feel for this new vibe and make yourself at home. we've been in neptune in pisces era since 2011/2012. it's quite a shakeup. like waking up from a dream, maybe.

[radiance1]

Alfred Pennyworth has in fact, perhaps, in the slightest of chances.

Picked up his Master's habit of collecting children as if they were on sale.

He was spending his time on one of those rare vacations he decided to take, it was nice, to relax with only the vague overhanging worry of something going wrong back at the manor that he's gotten very good at ignoring.

Only to come across a child bleeding out in an alley, heavily injured.

He would not be able to live with himself if he didn't at least try to help them however he could.

Such is how he acquired a child he later found to be a meta who whished to learn the ways of a butler.

---

Danny had escaped from a GIW compound, after having been handed over by his family a while after his reveal. He felt, completely and utterly betrayed, when it happened. His parents, while hurt, he was at least capable of actually seeing them do it, but never would he have thought Jazz would do so as well.

They did it so happily, that he wondered if letting him go really was the greatest thing to happen to this family.

He chained, muzzled, all the ways to bind him they pulled all the stops too, knowing how dangerous he was. He wouldn't have even done anything then, too stunned by his families apart willingness at handing him over to the government.

He hated them.

He hated them so much.

The GIW facility was a terrible, cold, unfeeling place. One where they drilled thoughts into his head again and again until he found himself unconsciously repeating them when his head felt empty, one where his body gained a new mark day by day and pushed through tests, he had no clue of even hoping to comprehend what they would gain out of it.

It was a cold, unfeeling place. Placed in a cell of white and nothing else, with low walls and chains binding his body in place until the time came for another experiment.

It was a room he grew used to. One he even held some kind of strange, twisted affection for.

It was a room that held a tiny piece of safety, of rest. It was a room that taught him to hate.

A deep, powerful, disgusting, twisting hatred that crawled from the depths of his cells, corrupting his blood and carving itself deep into his bones. Forcing it's out of his pores until it practically oozed from his flesh.

It drowned his mind, tainting each and every thought, every memory, every dream, every waking moment until he could feel nothing but hatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehatehate.

When he was taken out of that he could feel nothing, with the drugs swimming their way through his blood that snapped the thin string keeping him between a person and an emotionless puppet.

He thinks that's what the GIW thinks he is.

And when he was placed back in that room, he could only hate.

It was a cycle. Stuck between feeling either nothing or hatred.

He hated feeling nothing, it made him feel like he wasn't real. Like it snapped the thread that held him between what a real person was and a dream.

So, he allowed himself to drown deep into his hatred. Until the white walls of his far to small room seemed to fade, until whatever sound he could have heard became nothing but dull noise.

Until the passage of time seemed to become just a blink.

He didn't know what day it was, when he saw it. Saw them. He didn't know the time, the date, the day, the hours. He knew nothing.

But he could recognize his family. Recognize one of the objects of his intense hatred that he forced his thoughts too. The people who willingly gave him up just like that and one of the causes for his current life.

He didn't know why they showed him them, he felt it some sick, utterly cruel joke. A joke he didn't know the punchline for, a joke the universe sent his way to make his life all the more miserable.

There were multiple of them. Multiple clones of his family. Som within test tubes, some being pulled out from the tubes, some walking around in lab coats. A waste of talent, they called it in his dad's case, a waste of intelligence in his mother's, and a waste of intellect in his sister's case.

His original family was already dead, he was told. Replaced by clones, clones that took over the legal decision to change his guardianship. Clones walking around twisting and desecrating his family.

'At least it was painless.' One of the clones said, talking with his mother's face. 'Far more than they deserved for having keeping a thing like him' spoken by his father's imposter.

The drugs pumping through his system to keep him calm, to keep him feeling nothing was suddenly pierced through by an intense feeling of horror, hate and self-loathing.

He should've known it wasn't his family. He should've done more! More to protect them! To keep them safe! The could've still been alive if he just knew.

In that moment, watching imposters speaking, walking, talking, breathing, with his families faces. He exploded. Exploded with a power fueled by nothing but his intense hatred for every. Single. Living being in this goddamn facility.

He killed whoever stood in his way. Managing to get his hands on relatively newly designed weapon, an ectoplasmic scythe (that also apparently could revert into an everyday item). Which he used to rip and tear throughout the entirety of the facility. He got injured, of course, he couldn't dodge everything, but he didn't care.

A body stuck between life and death, incapable of fully going one way or the other no matter what happened. Gifted supernatural powers fueled by wrath and twisting hatred and a weapon made by man yet in the range of the supernatural.

They didn't stand a change. He killed them all. No matter who it was, man, woman, clone. He didn't, couldn't care. He could only kill, only maim, only hurt.

And that's what he did.

It was then, when the facility was blanketed with silence tainted by despair, death and hysteria. When previously white walls were covered by blood, and the halls turned into rivers of blood and corpses. That he broke down, the overwhelming hatred he felt replaced by relief then sadness then self-loathing.

His family didn't give him up! But they were killed. Kill because of him. He couldn't stand being in this place, anymore. His body felt as if it were moving on unseen strings as it walked through the halls, the scythe shrinking back what it was when out of combat, his mind too occupied by thoughts and feelings.

It walked through a portal, one to the ghost zone, and then promptly into another portal and spat him out into an alleyway. Which he then promptly collapsed and curled into a ball, curing the shrunken scythe in his palm and he was out like a light.

A few days after he woke up, he found himself growing attached to the human that found him in that alleyway. An old man, maybe, but a nice one. He didn't want to meet anyone, besides that man, so he turned invisible when anyone else come into contact with him.

Alfred Pennyworth.

It was a name he clung onto mentally and a man he clung onto physically as well. He wanted to be like that man, someone so nice and caring, someone who didn't mind that he turned invisible at the sing of another person, who let him cling onto him both invisible and not whenever he wanted to.

He did panic when he heard Alred saying his vacation was over, and such that he had to leave. He didn't want to be left alone again, he didn't know what he would do if he was left alone again.

Until Afred said we were going home.

We. As in, him plus another. Alfred plus Danny.

Home.

Heat blossomed in his chest, seeming to replace the constant, low hum of hate sitting beneath him skin.

Home.

[thedensworld]

Sweet Macaroons | C.Sc

Pairing: Gangster!Seungcheol x Baker!Reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship

Words Count: ±600

Summary: Seungcheol was far from pleased when a food critic posted a negative review that started to impact your sales. He couldn't stand to see you upset.

In the midst of a picturesque five months, Seungcheol, with an air of exclusivity, tenderly asked you to be his girlfriend. Everything seemed to move in slow motion around you, as if the universe itself was savoring the moment. His crew, astounded, couldn't fathom that a humble bakery owner just down the block from their bar had captured their boss's heart. He had transformed into something they never imagined: a unabashedly cheesy boy. Even Jeonghan, Seungcheol's right-hand man, remained baffled by the depth of his friend's infatuation with you. He couldn't quite grasp what had caused Seungcheol to fall so hard until he witnessed how Seungcheol would gladly stop the world at your command.

As an example of Seungcheol's devotion, he had gone as far as hiring a bodyguard to watch over you and ensure your safety. Seungcheol, ever mysterious about his business, would simply say, "I do business in Seoul and Busan," which, in its own way, was true. He owned nearly a hundred bars and nightclubs, not to mention his own association—a realm of details you didn't need to delve into.

Your bodyguard, Jun, who currently disguised as a barista in your bakery, would dutifully relay every detail to Seungcheol. This included mundane activities like your trips to the grocery store, visits from friends at the bakery, or even encounters with rude customers. Despite being in the know about your daily affairs through Jun, Seungcheol cherished hearing you recount your day, especially when it involved a customer that cussed on you. He'd teasingly inquire, "Should I track him down and make him pay?" A promise he would have swiftly fulfilled if you had not said, "No, you don't have to. I'll give him a piece mind when I'm a billionaire."

At times, Seungcheol really wants to say, "Marry me, and you can cuss him back in an instant." He was acutely aware of the influence he held.

However, he received an extremely irritating message from Jun, stating that a popular food critic had left a scathing review on their social media, claiming to have found a fly and cockroach legs in your sweets. This review had a detrimental impact on your sales and the overall image of the bakery, as people began leaving unpleasant comments on your social media platforms.

"Jeonghan, do you know this person?" Seungcheol inquired, displaying a video of the food critic.

Jeonghan confirmed, "Yeah, they're a very influential food critic."

Seungcheol nodded thoughtfully and hummed, "Do you know how to contact them?" he pressed further.

"I think we just need to get in touch with their management. They'll provide you with the pricing for their content," Jeonghan explained, prompting another question from Seungcheol.

"Then we can have them review our food however we want?" Jeonghan nodded, "Why? Are you thinking about having them promote our new foodbar?" he inquired.

Seungcheol shook his head, simultaneously signaling to Jeonghan that he wanted to be dropped off at your bakery.

Jun had informed Seungcheol that you had closed the bakery early today due to the lack of customers following the internet sensation. When Seungcheol arrived, only Jun was present in the bakery. He mentioned that you had gone to the convenience store for a few minutes. As Seungcheol patiently waited at one of the tables, you returned with a plastic bag in hand. Lost in your thoughts, you didn't immediately notice him. Instead, you went straight to Jun, telling him he could go home. Jun subtly gestured towards Seungcheol, indicating that he was waiting for you.

"Hi..." Your voice, though soft as always, carries a subtle shade of sadness. Seungcheol swears he can hear it, a touch of blue in your tone.

He smiles, approaching you and subtly signaling for Jun to leave the shop.

"Are you okay? I saw it online," Seungcheol asks gently once Jun has vanished from view.

You smile back at him, but tears well up in your eyes, trickling down your cheeks. You turn away, hiding your face from him as you wipe away the tears. Seungcheol's heart aches at the sight, a feeling he's never experienced before, like someone's squeezing his heart, causing a deep ache.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmurs softly, turning you to face him and pulling you into an embrace. He can feel the tightness in his chest intensify when he hears you sob.

This is the first time he's seen you cry in the five months you've been dating. He swears he'd never want to be the cause of your tears, let alone someone else.

"It's okay, baby. Bad things happen sometimes. It's not your fault," he reassures you as you try to explain how diligently you maintain your bakery's hygiene and ensure the freshness of ingredients. There's no way the accusations the food critic made could be true.

Seungcheol noticed the contents of the plastic bag you had been holding earlier: cleaning soap and equipment. His heart breaks once again, this time tinged with anger.

"Let's go home and rest, okay? I'll hire someone to clean the shop. I don't want to see you laboring with a heavy heart like this," he insists.

Seungcheol calls Jeonghan and swiftly arranges for his people to clean your shop. He drives you home, ensuring you have a proper dinner before settling down for some much-needed rest. Once you're peacefully asleep, he quietly slips away, reaching out to Jun and Jeonghan.

"Get them for me before midnight. Alive," he instructs.

Seungcheol doesn't concern himself with the specifics of how they carried out his request. But when his people successfully bring them to his office, he finally confronts the face that caused his girl to cry.

"What's your name?" Seungcheol asks, rising from his seat and approaching them.

"Who put you up to this?" Seungcheol presents their damning post about your bakery to their face. Poor soul, Seungcheol thinks. This food critic probably never imagined they'd be dragged in by a gangster and subjected to an interrogation like this.

Once Seungcheol acquires the name, he signals his people to reveal the extent of their capabilities. Images of their family and significant other are displayed, and they immediately plead for an apology, expressing regret for their actions.

"You should've thought about that before you posted that garbage," Seungcheol states, fixing them with a steely gaze.

"Upload a clarification video about your previous review. Go to that bakery tomorrow and apologize to the owner. Post both of those things before lunch if you want to spare them," Seungcheol directs, referring to the individuals in the photos as he delivers his unwavering ultimatum.

*

"It was a very wrong act of me to accept the offer to give a bad review to another bakery. I deeply apologize to the owner and my followers for doing such a wrong thing."

Seungcheol smiled at you as you showed him the video from the same account that had claimed they found a cockroach leg on your macaroon.

"See! I knew that my bakery and kitchen have passed the hygiene standards," you said, placing your phone down. There was a visible pout on your face, prompting Seungcheol to let out a chuckle.

"You're too cute," Seungcheol teased, pinching your cheek. He was relieved to see no trace of tears like the previous night.

You gently pulled his hand from your cheek as you stood up to restock the macaroon stall, which was nearly empty. Seungcheol couldn't help but smile as he watched you, his girl, his love, engrossed in the work you adored.

"Before you go, want a macaroon and your favorite latte?" you offered. He swore he would nod to anything you said.

"Here! I've packed some for your staff as well," you added, handing him boxes filled with sweets and a bundle of coffees for Seungcheol and Jeonghan.

He wouldn't let anyone steal your smile, even if he had to stop the world.

[betweenstorms]

Part Eight of Where We Part (previous chapter) (masterlist) (first chapter) Childhood Friend!Simon x fem!Reader

Snow fell in thick, lazy flakes as you stepped off the bus, pulling your scarf up to your face to fend off the bite of the cold air.

Simon’s message had come so suddenly, a single line on your screen: I’m back. That was all it took, warming you more than any fire could. You were out the door before your mind had fully registered it, anticipation sweeping through you, carrying you down the stairs of your building, leaving your flat a dark, empty shell in the evening.

It didn’t matter that it was the dead of night.

You would’ve gone to him any night, any hour. You would’ve crossed any distance just to be near him.

Your heart raced with each step, beating faster than the snowflakes that drifted from the ink-stained sky. As you hurried down the street, snow crunching softly beneath your boots, the streetlights casted golden pools that glimmered on the fresh powder like scattered crystals. It was as if the world itself had dressed in crystallised anticipation for this reunion, wearing precious jewels, cloaked in silver and shadows.

You were almost at his building, your breath coming in puffy clouds of white, cheeks flushed and eyes as bright as the stars. The cold had painted your skin with winter’s blush, and your hair was windswept, tousled from your hurried journey, but you barely noticed. All that really mattered was the light in his window, that faint glow that told you he was there—

—waiting for you.

You rang his doorbell, almost out of breath. Before he could even answer, you whispered, “It’s me.”

There was no response, only the faint click of the door unlocking, welcoming you in with a warm embrace. You took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the elevator entirely, unable to waste another moment. With every step, the pulse of longing, of hope and fear, grew louder, until you felt it in your throat, a hum beneath your skin.

Since that night you’d sent him the message, confessing the love you’d held silent for so long, you’d dreamed of this, the chance to look into his eyes, to see if they held the same unspoken answer you’d always hoped for. God, those eyes—dark and mesmerising, holding worlds within them, as though he carried a universe in his silence.

You longed for them, for the soft gravity that pulled you close despite never really feeling the warmth of their orbit. It was an ache full of longing, this yearning to exist in his universe that you could only glimpse from afar, a place where the planets reflected in his gaze, a shooting star that felt like home, even though you’d never really set foot there.

When you reached his door, you paused for a heartbeat, steadying yourself, feeling the swell of your own breathing. Then you knocked, and he opened the door. His gaze immediately met yours, and in that instant, you felt every mile, every moment of silence, every whispered wish converge in the space between you.

The sight of him was almost too much, like a dream finally taking shape before you.

Simon Riley stood in the light of his flat, dressed in the simplest of clothes—a worn shirt, loose at the collar, and faded jeans that seemed to soften his sharp edges. His face was still, unreadable as ever, though his eyes held a quiet promise that caught you off guard, drawing you into him. It was like looking into the depths of a calm sea, pitch black and unfathomable, but with an undercurrent that promised there was so much more below the surface.

“Made it through the snow, then,” he hummed.

You smiled nervously, fidgeting with your fingers. “Would never let a bit of snow stop me.”

Your voice was soft, almost tentative. The words felt too small for the weight of this very moment, but they held a sincerity that seemed to resonate between you.

After a seemingly endless moment, Simon stepped aside, silently inviting you in.

You crossed the threshold, letting the warmth of his flat wrap around you. It felt comforting, like slipping into an old dress. You fumbled with your scarf and coat, casting them aside with clumsy fingers, your movements a touch too quick, too eager. Everything felt heightened, the ordinary taking on a new gravity, and you couldn’t help but feel as though you were seeing his place for the first time, taking in every small detail like it was something precious.

His space, with its muted colours and sparse furnishings, had always struck you as a reflection of him—a spot of quiet endurance, stripped down to essentials, nothing unnecessary, nothing to soften the edges. You’d teased him about this countless times, saying he could pitch a tent on the street and call it a day, that he needed a woman’s touch here, a little warmth, a little life. 

But tonight, as you looked around, you realised you wouldn’t change a single thing.

Every corner, every empty wall, every threadbare cushion felt distinctly, profoundly him, and that familiarity wrapped around you like a soft blanket. Here, in this bare simplicity, he was himself, and you felt the privilege of being allowed in.

You drifted into the living room, awkwardly resting your hands on the back of his grey sofa, your gaze roaming over the room as if you’d find answers tucked into the corners. You could feel his presence behind you, solid and grounding, yet somehow distant.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, you asked him, “What happened, Si?” Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but the question hung heavy in the air, thick with the weight of everything you needed to know.

You wanted to believe that his absence was just the nature of his work, that it was a necessity and not a choice, but part of you feared otherwise. Part of you feared that now, just when you had finally given voice to your love, he would vanish again, leaving you without the chance to know what lay hidden in his heart.

He didn’t answer at first, his gaze shifting away from you and his expression darkening as he drew a long, tired breath.

After a few painfully long seconds, he finally exhaled, his shoulders sagging as if he carried a weight you couldn’t see.

“Work,” he stated, his voice rough, laced with a weariness that seemed to go far deeper than the past few weeks. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair, a gesture you recognised as his way of grounding himself, of trying to find the right words. “Things got… messy.” His jaw tightened, and you knew, there was so much he wasn’t saying, layers of meaning buried in his words, like the murmur of a story beneath the surface of a still lake.

A lake that held a monster.

“How messy?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, trying to mask the tremor in your voice.

Simon mirrored your posture, leaning against the wall with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his worn jeans, tilting his head to observe you with a strange, clinical intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His eyes seemed to hold a quiet calculation, as though he was gauging just how much truth you could bear, assessing the weight he might lay upon you without breaking you.

Seeing the look in his gaze, you straightened, pulling yourself up, a brave front in the face of his hesitation, though you felt your facade cracking. He must’ve seen it—the slight tremble in your stance, the way your fingers twisted together to keep them from shaking.

With a sigh, he looked away, his gaze dropping to the side table where a half-empty glass of whiskey sat, a faint reflection of the dim lamplight glinting in the amber liquid. 

You hadn’t noticed it until now.

At that moment, the message you’d sent him on New Year’s Eve, the confession of your love, felt impossibly insignificant and childish. Whatever you’d been waiting for, whatever words of love or promise you’d hoped for, seemed small in the shadow of the silence he wore like a second skin. You wondered if, amid everything he had faced in the past months, your feelings had become another burden for him, another layer of complexity he didn’t need.

Whatever had dragged him down into this quiet desolation felt much larger, much darker, and for the first time, you questioned whether you truly belonged in his world, whether he could let you in without burdening you with things he fought so hard to bury.

“Didn’t mean to leave you, love,” he murmured, the words barely audible, his gaze still fixed on some invisible point beyond you. The quiet roughness of his voice was like a brush of cold air, chilling and real, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. “Work went sideways.”

You shifted your weight, fingers finding your elbow in a nervous scratch.

“What d’you mean?”

He moved slowly, reaching for the glass of whisky, lifting it to his lips but pausing, as though the answer was nestled somewhere in its amber depths. He took a single, measured sip before setting it down again, exhaling heavily.

“One of my mates didn’t make it,” he murmured, his voice like sandpaper, rough and scraped thin by grief.

Your hands clenched unconsciously, fingers digging into your palms, leaving little half-moon imprints that stung. The thought of him losing someone again, of him carrying yet another loss on those already abandoned shoulders, twisted something painful in your chest. But you said nothing, sensing that he wasn’t finished.

“Happened right in front of me. Shot in the fuckin’ head. And the bastard who did it slipped away, just like that. Bloody vanished.”

His confession hit you like cold rain, each one soaking into you, settling with a heavy, aching permanence. So you looked at him, really looked at him, seeing the lines of exhaustion etched into his face, the hollowness lingering in his gaze. In his deep voice, you could almost feel the raw injustice, the senselessness.

“Went up to Scotland after,” he murmured, his voice thick, his gaze far away. “Took his ashes with the team. No family left that wanted anythin’ to do with it. Just us. So we scattered him there, in the hills.” He paused, his hand resting on the glass, his fingers tightening around it. “You’d have liked him. Right pain in the arse, but big heart. One of the fuckin’ best.”

“Oh, God,” you whispered, words catching in your throat, useless and small in the face of something so raw, so immediate, so irreversible. You felt the painful ache in his words as though they were your own, a dull throb that settled beneath your ribs, swelling and settling like a bruise you couldn’t see.

You opened your mouth, wanting to say something, anything, to reach across the impossible gulf between his grief and your presence, but each phrase you thought of felt inadequate and hollow. Somehow, the words felt too sharp, like fragments of glass too small to piece together as a whole.

What could you say that he hadn’t already heard a hundred times, that wouldn’t sound hollow in the wake of so much loss?

The last time he’d lost someone, you’d written him a letter. You’d written to him about the tragedy of childhood, about guilt, about family, about all the things you wished you could take back. Pages upon pages of words had come to you then, spilling out with a feverish need to comfort, to connect, as you lay in a bloody hospital bed, trying to capture everything you couldn’t say to him in person. Back then, every thought had felt vital, every line a confession of all you wished he could hear.

But here, standing in front of him, faced with the raw, unhealed wound of his sorrow, you felt adrift, unable to find even a single sentence that could touch the mere vastness of his agony. You wished you could say something to soothe him, to ease the suffering he bore, but every instinct told you that this grief was too sacred, too traumatic and too deeply embedded for anything you could say to lessen it.

So you did what you always did when you were lost—

—you started to ramble.

“You’re… you’re so fuckin’ strong, Simon. I mean it. To carry all this, to keep going. I can’t even imagine—” Your words caught in your throat, and you pressed on, fumbling, “Whatever you need, I’m here, yeah? Just say the word. I mean, if there’s anythin’ I can do—”

Before you could finish, he let out a sigh.

An all too familiar reaction, cutting through your words with that weary impatience you knew so well.

That sigh had always been enough to silence you, to bring you to a halt. He looked at you with a weariness so deep it felt almost like an accusation, as though your very presence exhausted him in some strange, bittersweet way. You could feel the anxious heat blooming under your skin, your palms damp with the tension that had knotted itself in your chest. You hugged yourself tighter, as though afraid that if you let go, you’d simply fall apart.

“Come here,” he murmured, voice low and rough.

The command was soft, but it held that same authority that was so unmistakably him. So you blinked, his order lingering in the air, settling into your skin like a brand. Your mind struggled to process the meaning behind his words, to make sense of the kind invitation hidden beneath his blunt command. His tone was gentle, almost tender, yet there was an unspoken weight to it, as though this was more than just an instruction—

—it was a surrender.

You felt like you were being given a choice, a step across a line you’d both danced around for years, but he’d left no room for uncertainty. The moment was his, and you felt the weight of it settle around you.

When you didn’t move, when the reality of his request rooted you to the spot, he let out a quiet grunt, a sound both frustrated and resigned, and stepped closer to you himself. The distance between you disappeared in an instant, and the air felt thicker, charged with something unnameable that made your skin burn.

You felt the warmth of him even before his hand reached out, his fingers grazing the fabric of your sweater before settling on your waist. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but there was a quiet conviction in the way his fingers curled around you, pulling you just a fraction closer.  He was so close now that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body, the quiet hum of his breath, steady and measured.

Leaning against the sofa, you had to tilt your head up to meet his gaze, your heart racing wildly as his eyes bore into yours, dark and unguarded.

You had never seen him like this.

The world narrowed, focused entirely on him, on the roughness of his calloused hand against your body and the way his gaze held yours like you were something precious, something he was trying desperately not to break. Your knees brushed against his, a subtle, almost shy touch that felt strangely intimate, like a promise you didn’t dare to speak. He loomed over you, a figure carved from all the resilience and sorrow he’d carried through his life, a force of gravity that drew you in even as he held back.

Your breath caught as he said, “This is why I’m here.”

The words sank in slowly, stirring a sense of nervousness, of realisation.

“Yeah, I know, but—” you replied, your voice trembling, almost inaudible. “I just… I didn’t know what you were going through. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have… I wouldn’t have made things harder for you. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologisin’,” he cut in, his hand tightening slightly on your waist, grounding you in the present, pulling you out of the spiral of guilt. “You’ve been doin’ that shit since we were kids. Fuckin’ annoying, y’know that?”

“Yeah. Sorry. I mean—”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks at his bluntness, the way he could strip you down to the very core with so few words, cutting through every layer of pretence.

His tone was rough, his words clipped, but the faintest hint of amusement softened his gaze, a glimmer in his eyes that betrayed the sharpness of his voice. There was no real anger there, no frustration, only a quiet, steady warmth that held you in place, disarmed you completely.

You looked up at him, utterly captivated, feeling the way his fingers pressed against you, warm and solid, a gentle weight that made your skin prickle with hurried anticipation. He was looking at you as though you were the centre of the universe, as though you were something irreplaceable, and in that moment, every doubt, every hesitation melted away.

The world around you dissolved, leaving only him, the unspoken emotions flickering in his gaze, the faint brush of his thumb along your side—a gesture so small, so quiet, but charged with something vast, something that held years of waiting, of missed moments, of unspoken words. Your poor heart thundered, a wild beat that matched the intensity in his eyes, the silent confession that seemed to hover between you, waiting, unspoken, in the air.

“Never been good at sayin’ things, not when they matter.”

His other hand rose, stalling for a second before brushing a strand of hair from your face. His touch was featherlight, a rare gentleness that felt almost out of place against the roughness of his hand, the hand of a soldier who had known only violence and destruction.

But here, with you, he softened, his fingers lingering just a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if he was memorising the feel of you, storing it away like a keepsake. The closeness between you was dizzying, each breath shared, each hurried heartbeat in tandem, and the weight of his confession was enough to make your knees tremble.

He scoffed, his gaze dropping, but he didn’t release his hold on you, not even a little bit. “I’m too much of a fuckin’ coward to say it right, to say what you deserve to hear. But all I’ve ever wanted is for you to be happy. That’s all I bloody want, alright? So I left. Left you to find some other bloke who could give you everythin’ I couldn’t.”

The words landed softly, almost lost in the stillness of the room, but they pierced you deeply, each syllable burrowing into your heart.

It was as if he was laying himself bare, offering you the fractured pieces of a man marred by grief and shadows, hoping you’d take them and see him not for what he had done, but for what he could be. The years of silence, all the glances and all the unspoken promises, all seemed to unravel in that single moment.

Simon Riley, the unbreakable, unshakable figure you’d known since childhood, stood before you now in this split second of the universe, open and exposed, offering you himself.

Your heart swelled at the sight and you felt yourself drawn even closer, like gravity binding you both together in a way that felt irreversible. You reached up, your hand steady despite the wild beat of your pulse, and let your thumb brush along his scarred lips, tracing the rough edges and feeling the warmth beneath.

“Y’know, I thought I knew what I wanted,” you whispered, each word carrying a weight you hadn’t known until this moment. “Thought I wanted a picture perfect life, the kind you dream about, that I had to meticulously fix everythin’ in my life to deserve happiness… but none of it means anythin’ if it doesn’t include you. Ever since we were kids… maybe I’ve loved you since then, without even knowin’.”

He let out a soft, almost bitter huff, a sound that was somehow both happy and sad. His gaze fell away, then he turned his head, just enough that his lips brushed the inside of your hand, a gesture so fleeting it could have been a mere accident. But it wasn’t.

You felt the warmth of his breath, the slight tremble in the touch, and it set something alight within you—a spark that had lain dormant, waiting, perhaps, for this very moment.

“You’ve got some daft ideas, love,” he murmured, voice thick with something unspoken, the quiet tremor of a man who’d spent too many years swallowing his own feelings. His words were meant to sound gruff, deflecting, yet the way he looked at you gave him away entirely, his gaze lingering on you as though he could see something he’d missed before.

His gaze lifted, and for a moment, he looked almost fragile, as though he didn’t quite believe he was worthy of your words, of your love. But then, something shifted in his eyes, a spark of hope flickering in the depths of his soul.

And just like that, he closed the last sliver of space between you, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both gentle and desperate, a silent vow that spoke of all the words he couldn’t bring himself to say, a kiss that felt like both a promise and an apology for all the years spent apart, all the words unspoken. 

The kiss deepened, a slow, tender exchange that felt like a thousand promises wrapped into one. He tasted like whiskey, cigarettes and regret, like something raw and real that anchored you to him, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair as he pulled you impossibly closer. You felt his heartbeat under your palm, steady and strong, and it felt like coming home after wandering for years, lost in a world that had never made sense without him. The warmth of his lips spread through you like the quiet promise of dawn breaking over a frozen landscape, melting away the distance that had once felt insurmountable.

“Fuck,” he murmured into your lips. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too.”

And then he whispered, barely audible, a breath against your skin, “No more partin’.”

The words cut through you, raw and piercing, like an arrow finding its mark. You understood, in that moment, that this was where the distance ended, where all those unspoken goodbyes, all the quiet departures of the heart, finally came to rest. He was offering you something more precious than any words could capture—a life in which you wouldn’t have to watch him walk away again, in which the space between you would no longer be an endless, aching divide.

You leaned into him, feeling the truth of it settle in your bones, feeling the relief that washed over you, a warmth spreading through you that felt like homecoming.

In that moment, you understood that this was the place you had both been searching for, that all the roads had somehow led here, to him, to this quiet room, to the snow falling softly outside, to the words you’d both carried with you all this time, waiting for the right moment to be spoken.

Outside, the night stretched on, blanketed in white, the world a vast, unbroken silence. But here, in his arms, in the space where all words had faded, you knew that the search had finally ended.

And so, the chapter closed, not in the place you thought it would, but in a place neither of you could have ever imagined—a place without partings, without endings, a place where you could finally be whole together.

Thank you so much to everyone who followed this story and for all the incredible support and love along the way. I’m incredibly grateful to each of you who stuck with me until the very end, and I hope you’ll join me on my next project. I’m planning a new story that will focus on Simon, Johnny, and Reader, and of course, I’ll be continuing Skin of Thunder as well. Thank you again from the bottom of my heart!

[chickren]

Which in-universe character do you think have an idea about Jaime’s feelings towards Brienne? It’s a bit interesting that this hasn’t come up yet in the books, given how quickly the threesome rumor and Jaime Catelyn and Brienne is circulating in-universe haha. I think Qyburn definitely suspects since he referred to Brienne as “your Maid of Tarth” to Jaime. Red Ronnet probably suspects something after the punch. I sort of wondered if Loras had any suspicion given how much Jaime spoke in defense of Brienne. Anyone else you could think of, and do you think this rumor would show up in the books?

We don’t talk a lot about how far spread Brienne and Jaime’s story is in-universe, but we should, so I’m gonna hijack this ask for a sec and do that.

These dummies are already legendary before we get to the good stuff. Obviously, kingslayer Jaime is (in)famous already—not going to go into the depth and breadth of his fame. But Renly(king)slayer Brienne is pretty infamous herself by Storm. The Renly story is apparently one of the first things Cleos tells Jaime about her. Then Loras very publicly confronts Brienne in King’s Landing about Renly’s death, so Jaime has her arrested (ostensibly on a murder charge.) This is before we get to Feast and find out even hedge knights have heard of Brienne’s supposed Renlyslaying.

More interesting than their individual infamy, however, is Jaime and Brienne’s new joint lore. Roose implies Brienne is even more infamous as a traitor to a second king for being part of the plot to free Jaime. We also get wind in Storm that the threesome rumors have spread far and wide in the Riverlands. But it is not until we get to Feast that we realize that the Bear Pit™ incident has also gone viral. Red Ronnet knows about the bear pit, and while at Harrenhal goes to see the pit itself specifically because of what he’s heard about the story. Then, of course, there is the fact that Jaime is believed to have simply run off somewhere with Brienne—which is an absolutely salacious final detail.

Considering the quasi-medieval world of ASoIaF and the amount of pretty important earth-shattering news about Westeros falling apart around their ears, it’s sort of hilarious that people find time to gossip enough about Jaime and Brienne’s story that word of it has traveled so far so fast.

But back to your question, as I feel you imply, it wouldn’t be difficult for people to believe Brienne fell in love with Jaime, but who might be in a position to suspect Jaime’s feelings for her?

It’s clear that the bear pit story is not enough to make people think Jaime has feelings for Brienne. Otherwise, Ronnet wouldn’t have been dumb enough to run his mouth in front of Jaime. However, one must wonder if people generally have started to suspect he has feelings after he leaves Pennytree with her in Dance. He saves her, then runs off with her? Sounds romantic.

Qyburn, as you mentioned, has spent time around the two of them. It’s possible he picked up a vibe. Beyond that, he’s witness to Jaime’s mini-freakout after he finds out what Vargo intends to do with Brienne, then he’s witness to his massive freakout after the weirwoood dream. However, Qyburn also spent the whole journey from Harrenhal to King’s Landing with them, and to hear Jaime tell it, he and Brienne were not at the top of their relationship game during this portion of their trip. So that might cool any suspicions Qyburn has about them. The only thing that could strongly counteract that is the fact that Qyburn knows Cersei sent the old “I love you” x3 letter to Jaime, which Jaime then ignored in favor of running off with Brienne.

Ronnet? I mean. If someone else had seen all that, they’d understand Jaime has serious feelings for her. But Ronnet’s emotional intelligence seems low. Obviously, he knows Jaime feels some sort of attachment to Brienne. I would question if he understands it’s romantic.

Loras is a self-centered heartbroken teenage superstar who is either embroiled in some elaborate conspiracy pretending to be injured at Dragonstone, or was actually gravely injured at Dragonstone, and his beloved sister has just been arrested for a capital offense. Even if he marginally had a whiff of suspicion about Jaime and Brienne, he’s not making room in his mind to contemplate anyone else’s love life. So no, I don’t think Loras knows.

If there’s a wildcard person who could possibly be in a position to have heard something incriminating from Jaime himself, I’d say it would be Ilyn Payne. Chatterbox Jaime’s been using the guy like a confessional box, so it’s within the realm of feasibility that George could create a scene in Winds where Ilyn Payne raises his eyebrows at the mention of Brienne in a way that would indicate to readers that he knows something. I think it’s unlikely, but it is floating in the ether of technical possibility. (Or lol, it might get a mention in the event of an Ilyn prologue pov.)

So, to answer your question, from the precise moment where we leave them in Dance, I don’t think there is a single person who could definitively raise their hand and go, “Oh, btw? Jaime’s in love with that lady.” This is likely to change fast in Winds, especially if someone like Hyle is witness to their interactions.

The circumstantial evidence for their relationship by the end of Dance, though? lmao. Damning. The blind items? Flying. The top comment: he’s hitting that.

tl;dr - Between the rampant threesome rumors, the viral bear pit story, and the tale of Jaime running off with Brienne, the general public is probably more suspicious of Jaime’s feelings for Brienne than the man himself.